Falling Through Time
by Kait Hobbit
Summary: In what was supposed to be her first ski trip since the war, Hermione wakes up from an avalanche to find herself back at Hogwarts. Despite her search to return home to her time, she is forced to relive her last years at Hogwarts and the War that she knows will claim the faces that now haunt her. In Particular, the face of a certain Weasley that she finds herself slowly falling for.
1. Falling Down

Falling Through Time (WIP)

Summary: In what was supposed to be her first ski trip since the war, Hermione wakes up from an avalanche to find herself back in time. Despite her search to return home to her time, she is forced to relive her last years at Hogwarts and the War that she knows will claim the faces that now haunt her. In Particular, the face of a certain Weasley that she finds herself slowly falling for.

D/AN: In celebration for J.K. Rowling's half-century. Thank you Jo Xx Kait.

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Chapter One

Falling Down

* * *

It was a truth, although one she would not publicly acknowledge, that Hermione Granger did not like to ski.

She had told Harry as much her Fifth Year when she had coerced her parents into letting her return to Grimmauld Place a few days into her last trip to Switzerland. Grimmauld was another truth she'd take to her grave. Her parents had assumed she had spent that Christmas back at school studying for her O.W.L.s, not helping Harry through what she had feared was possession. Regardless, whether she was escaping to study or help a friend, she was always _escaping_ skiing.

Which her parents, had they known the truth, would have been startled by. She had excelled in the sport, like everything else she had set her mind to. Her father and mother had been avid skiers, spending their Christmas Holidays since dental school to Hermione's birth visiting the different resorts that decked the mountain tops of Switzerland and France. When their only daughter first learned how to walk, they had her fitted with her first pair of skis to join them on holiday. It would be something the three of them could do together.

It wasn't that she didn't enjoy it per se, more that she enjoyed spending time with her parents. She liked seeing them laughing up the lift with her in-between them. It was different than seeing them in the house or at the office. Here they weren't Dr. and Dr. Granger. Here they were young and happy, flying down the slopes with their little girl.

Although _they_ had never told her, Mr and Mrs Granger had spent the first semester their daughter was away coming up with a list of moments from her childhood that could have prompted them to believe that she was a witch. There was a time when she had stopped a family heirloom from crashing to the ground, or another time when she entertained herself at their office by making paper dolls that can-canned for her; but it was only a matter time before they thought of her first skiing trip when she had completed the kiddie-class with such skill she was skiing with her parents by the end of the day. Talent, they had called it then. Mr Granger nearly called the Great Britain Olympic Team to watch the protege. Magic?—Even still, Mr Granger liked to think it was talent.

But as she got older, as she encountered real magic, Hermione determined she didn't care for skiing. Didn't care for it so much that she would happily run from a Christmas trip to the lodge to a wizard hospital and angst filled friend.

But that was before the war, She had reasoned when, finally reunited with her parents and their restored memories suggest they return to their family tradition. It had been three years since she called the Knight Bus to take her to Grimmauld Place. It had been over six months since the battle that had left so many scars on her life. _Maybe a little return to muggle magic would help,_ Ginny had told her when she packed her sweaters. _Maybe a return to something that doesn't have ghosts would do everyone some good._

* * *

((*))

* * *

Hermione woke up to the sunlight beaming through the ice rimmed window panes, bouncing off her white down comforter. To her adjusting eyes, it made the room look like she was waking in the clouds, not the familiar walls of her parents favorite Cabin.

It wasn't actually a cabin, but that's what her parents had always called it. Made it sound more homey that a Time Share. She could hear the water from the shower in the suit next door where the boys were sleeping. It was too early in the morning for it to be Ron, so she could only assume Harry had crawled out of his bed and started getting ready first. He had said as much at dinner the previous night when they had arrived with her parents.

Originally, it was only meant to be Hermione and her parents. Memories restored, belongs packed up and sent back to England, her father had suggested the Grangers return to their traditional winter holiday.

"After all, our Hermione hasn't been able to enjoy them as much in the last few years," he had said as she helped them pack up their house in Australia. It was, at the very least, an easy thing to do as she began her penance for sending her parents to a different hemisphere. Subtle restorations of what life should have been like. Snowy trips and red cheeks in the alps. Perhaps Ginny was right, maybe years of not having been taken to the slopes would make her realize she actually cared for the activity.

But then as soon as the words where out of her husbands mouth, Caroline Granger suggested Ron and Harry come as well. At first it was just Ron, Caroline having been quick to note there was a new bond between the tall, fair eyed ginger who had accompanied her daughter all the way to Brisbane when they were reunited.

But then so did Harry, Evan Granger remarked, also aware of the sprouting bond.

So both were invited.

The start of penance, and the bridging between her worlds. Just as they should be.

Initially, Hermione hadn't supposed they would come. When she had once explained skiing to Ron while at Hogwarts, he had mocked her pretty well for it, amused at the thought of muggles strapping polished wood to their feet and throwing them down a mountain side. Harry was familiar with the sport but hadn't done it himself. She had thought she would just mention the invitation and the two would wave it aside and continue planning their travels around Mrs. Weasley's Christmas dinner.

But, damn the two, they actually accepted the invitation. They had jumped at it. Anything to get them out of Britain, even if just for a little while. They had enjoyed the peace and anonymity that their trip to Australia had offered them. Yes, he was still the famous Harry Potter, and they, the two best friends, but little of the Dark Lord's rise to power had been heard of the farther one got a way from Britain, save it where from expatriates who had fled before the dark days began.

Hermione burrowed herself deeper in the blankets of her bed, clenching her eyes tight. The weather was beautiful for skiing. Her father would want to head out sooner rather than later. She supposed she'd have to get out of bed soon, least she dedicate herself to the lodge all day.

 _Wouldn't be too bad, you could spend the whole day with Ron…_

But even that put a Quaffle on her belly.

 _Ron…_

Her mother was right. There was something going on with them. One did not share a first kiss someone in the heat of battle and carry on like nothing had happened. That kiss was seven years in the making and everyone in their year and the year before and after knew it. But as the smoke cleared and the threat of death diminished, it was as if a great "What's next?" was asked of them every time they turned the corner with locked hands, analysis of gossips trying to determine if they were dating, had they eloped, or if they were putting on an act, trying at long last to steal attention from the famous Harry Potter.

At first she hadn't cared. When people asked how they were doing, she would roll it off our blush like a school girl in love. She had been. _Seven years in the making, the hell she was._ She had dreamed what kissing him would be like. How their faces would mesh together. How his arm would feel wrapped around her waist. How soft his hair would be as it raced thru her fingers.

But she was afraid what had begun as a firework was now turning into a dying flame.

Being normal—no, living a normal life, one where she wasn't constantly running, one where she wasn't debating between studying for exams or whether or not she'd be battling for her life—had made their relationship, er—normal. At first it was nice. They could fall asleep in each others arms and not worry about having to run for their lives at a moments notice. When they fought, she didn't have to worry those heated words would be the last they exchanged before a Death Eater popped into their kitchen and cut him down in a flash of green light. A Saturday in Diagon Alley could be just a Satuday in Diagon Alley. Meeting up with Harry, Neville, and Luna could be just bumping into friends and not a meeting of resistance.

Yes, they were normal. But they had lost some of the element of their spontaneity.

 _He followed you to Australia—_

But Harry had offered first. And what would it look like after all, if she had disappeared from Britain with the famous Harry Potter, and not her war hero boyfriend? Rita Skeeter couldn't be contained. They had all had biographers writing to them since Voldemort fell asking for a cooperation. Her and Harry disappear from the country together and they'd have a bloody field day.

They made Australia count, Ron and her. That trip and the weeks before she returned for her Seventh Year. He wasn't surprised when she told him she was going back, but his normal jealousy reappeared when Justin Finch-Fletchley greeted her with a hug on Platform 9 3/4 when Ron came to see her off. After that, he was at Hogsmede every weekend there was a trip, and there was left no room to doubt _they_ were together. Even if together meant her at Hogwarts finishing her education and he was training in the Auror program while moonlighting at the joke shop with George.

It wasn't that she _didn't_ love him, or that she had _stopped_ loving him. No. It couldn't ever be that. But they were the same now as they had been all those years before. Only now, if she threw him a look across the room, or kissed him before she left the room, he might return with a peck on the cheek or hold her hand as she rested it on his shoulder.

It was the type of love you saw between friends. it wasn't the type of love you saw between lovers who had defied Dark Lords and Death Eaters to be together.

 _Not that you're that either—_

"Hermione," a knock on her door and jiggle of her handle mused her head off the pillow. Her mum was awake. "The boys are getting up, we're meeting on the slopes in an hour…"

"Alright Mum," she responded, rolling over and staring at the celling. She couldn't imagine spending a day at the lodge with Ron. She was starting to wonder if she could spend a life with him for that matter.

She rolled out of bed, only hesitating when she noticed her bracelet had snagged on the bed sheet. She gently got it free, making sure the charm was secure to the silver band before smoothing it out on her arm.

It was silly to sleep in a bracelet, but she had grown fond of it. She'd worn it consistently since she found it the night before her return to Hogwarts, emptying her beaded bag for the first time since the War ended. There, crushed under a hardback copy of "Great Expectations" was a little orange box with purple wrappings.

At first she had panicked, thinking it was a "She's my girl not yours get lost you prat" ring he'd gotten to ward off any foolish guy who'd try and usurp him at school. That would have been extreme and unwarranted and she would have had to confound him on the spot, or something to that effect.

It was to her relief when she saw it was a bracket. But the note attached was what was haunting. What had her catch her breath and look over her shoulder to see if a Weasley had entered the kitchen. " _Meant to give you this last Christmas when you didn't come around. Count it as a good luck charm as you keep the boys alive. Good Luck—Fred."_

The little gold bracelet with a single time turner charm. He had to have thrown it in there in the days before the wedding. And she didn't find it till it had juggled in her purse for over a year and over his death three months later.

She would never have said her and Fred were close enough friends that they'd exchange birthday and Christmas gifts, but perhaps somewhere along the line Fred had developed a soft spot. War did crazy things. Or perhaps he thought she'd seriously kill his brother and Harry if she had to put up with them for the duration of the war.

Either way, she liked her bracelet. Her little wish for good luck from a friend she could only talk to at a marble slab.

"Hermione, are you moving?" her Mum knocked again.

"I'll be out in five," she responded, attention away from the bracelet as she looked for her Weasley Sweater.

* * *

((*))

* * *

"But what if we enchant the skis?" Ron asked as the three of them sat on the lift, "You know, so they can ski for us and we're not teenagers who are going to fall in front of the kids?"

"You should learn how to do it without magic before you try and charm them," Hermione smiled squeezing his hand. "Don't worry, Jorge trained me when my parents first brought me here ten years ago. I'm sure he can help you and Harry nicely.'

A look of pure, mortified dread appeared on Ron's face. "You don't mean to tell me Harry and I are going to be the only adults in the class?"

She smirked, "Don't worry, some of the American families are here for the season, their sons are giants. You won't stick out too much."

"Hermione Granger—"

Harry laughed, "Mr. Granger signed us up for the Adult class, she's just pulling your chain." Ron looked over at her, his face twisted with annoyance, "Really?"

She winked, wrapping her arms around both the boys, "I almost had you for a second," her arm stayed draped behind Ron. She wanted this to work. It could work. Her and him. It had to work. She was overthinking it this morning like she overthought everything. She was Hermione. Thats what she did. Its all she had known. With the absence of a Dark Lord to overthink about, it was only natural she overthink a relationship. It didn't have to work right now. But they would in the long run. She was 19. She had just returned to Hogwarts for her NEWTs. There was no one pushing their wand to her back forcing her to make a decision now. But it felt like it. Did he feel that way too?

His arm draped her own, his gloved hand casually playing with a curl loose from her ski cap. "What do you reckon Harry? Charm them?"

"I think Hermione's right," Harry said, looking at his own skis with a lack of faith. "We can give it a few hours and see how it goes. One day on our own and the first chance we get—"

"When you guys break your arms remember I left the Skel-e-grow back home."

"But you're taking some of those healing classes—"

"Not enough to make you a Guinea Pig," she answered, pushing the two of them forward as they slid, and in Ron's case, nearly falling on the mound in front of them.

"Well what if there's an avalanche? Your dad was talking about them at breakfast, supposedly they're on a watch for those," he countered.

"Ron, this is Switzerland. They're always on the watch for avalanches," she looked at Harry, "Do you want to go or should I send you both back to the lodge for some cocoa and mud masks?"

"We're fine," Harry smirked, "Although if you two want to do that later, let me know and I'll stay in the class until I beat myself with my ski pole."

Hermione smiled, "Jorge's class is going to be on your right He'll probably have you learn on the bunny hill a little bit before he sets you loose."

"You're not afraid skiing by yourself? You could come with us—"

"I'm fine," she promised Ron, "If I can spend a year on the run with you guys, I promise I can spend a good three hours away from you all."

Kissing them both on the cheek she watched them walk more than glide, towards the class—Ron turning around with a questioning face when he saw a boy half his hight whizzing past him. He waved his pole like a wand in the direction of his skis, and she knew what he was mouthing. She smiled and gave a thumbs up, hoping that would be enough.

Pushing along she felt a spark in her she hadn't realized she missed. It was a beautiful morning to ski. Her father and mother had headed out after the three of them had started their breakfast. They were supposed to meet on the diamond side of the mountain by one for lunch, but that was hours away. Right now, she had an open mountain, and open Hermione time, with blue sky and snow before her.

* * *

((*))

* * *

She knew it was too good to be true. She knew that her new appreciation for the freedom and the anonymity that it offered her wasn't based on a love for the sport, but a resurfacing of her love of an exhilarating, life threatening, adventure.

She knew that the good weather, the quality of the snow—she knew it was going to give in. Because Hermione Granger had learned a long time ago, nothing came without a price or without an opportunity to go wrong.

Her parents had talked about it at breakfast. 'Best go on your trail today Hermione,' her dad had said as they drank the coffee at the lodge, 'Heard the Rangers say they're thinking of closing it this week. Too much new snow piling up on the old again.'

She hadn't gone through a wizard war and missed that trail for three years to be separated by eight inches of new powder.

But she should have.

She was already on her decent when she heard the sound, like a shot from a race gun and a momentary glance behind her caused her eyes to open in fear as tons of snow raced down the mountain.

She knew what to do. They had always trained and talked about this. She usually had to recite the plan with her dad growing up, before he would let her voyage off on her own. Poles firm in hand, she tried skiing towards the sides of the avalanche, hoping she could miss it or duck out.

But it was coming to fast. It was coming fast and she was dead center.

She looked at her poles. Maybe she could out run it. She pointed herself towards her original path. She could do it. She had to be able to do it. She hadn't survived a bleeding Dark Lord and been tortured by one of Azkabans most wanted only to die at 19 in an avalanche.

She should have taken her wand with her. She could do a protection charm. She was good at that. Nearly three years of having her wand on her 24/7, why in the world did she not have her wand?

Had she been paying attention, she might have noticed the way the sun caught her charm bracelet—the one he had gotten her for good luck—and might have noticed that it had an eerie blue tinge to it now. But you don't look at your lucky tokens that have failed you as snow thunders towards your way.

All she saw was the wall of snow come and crash down on her, as she fell below twenty feet of roaring white waves.

* * *

AN: It's my first Fred-Hermione I've written, so please feel free to give any and all feedback! I'm venturing into new territory...I'm excited but still feel like I may be drawing straws. I'm planning on giving the second part soon, so if you enjoyed this I encourage you to keep an eye out. Cheers!-Kait Hobbit


	2. Fallen Found

The Fallen Found

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She woke up in a bright room, morning light beaming thru the glass panes and bouncing off her white dovlet and the white privacy barriers the hospital had set up.

If she wasn't in pain, she may have thought it looked as though she was awaking on a cloud. But clouds didn't hurt like she did. Her head was screaming. Her body ached in ways it hadn't for years. It was as though she had emerged from camping with the boys all over again, her joints stiff, any movement a sharp one. _You're wrong, you never hurt this much during the Horcrux Hunt._ Right now all she could think of was a headache pill or some of the pain medicine from the dental clinic.

She closed her eyes, willing herself—albeit vainly—to get some more sleep. She listed to her surroundings. There was the hustled footsteps of what she assumed was a nurse running from one station to the next. The mumbled chatter between staff on another patient a few beds over. Had she been taken to a Swiss Hospital or was she back home? How long had she been out? The voices sounded English—she must have been moved. That couldn't have been easy, the Ministry must have been involved.

She could only imagine the tabloids. " _Golden Girl of the Golden Trio whisked to St. Mungos following Muggle Ski Trip_ " "G _ranger Danger: Life Threatening Avalanche nearly claims War Hero_." Rita Skeeter had never forgotten the gag order Hermione had her under after the Triwizard tournament. She could only imagine Skeeter's " _Has Been Hero causes avalanche in renewed cry for attention_ " splashing the gossip section of the Daily Prophet. It wouldn't be long before the letters from the biographers came to her table back at school. _Merlin school—_ she didn't want to miss her N.E.W.T.s… not again. She refused to be a twenty-year old seventh year.

"Are any of them up yet?" a familiar voice asked from beyond he barrier.

She opened her eyes, attempting to turn her head toward the voice. The footsteps had drawn closer and then suddenly stopped. She could see the mop of ginger hair sticking up, veiled by the barriers. "Is she up?" he asked from the other side, entering before he could hear an answer. There, standing with an orange box with purple strings stood George Weasley, the permanent smirk on his face reviving itself as he saw she was awake.

When Fred had died, that smirk had gone away for a while. It had almost became a scowl. As though he was disgusted with himself every time he looked in the mirror. Even that mischievous spark that danced in his eyes had disappeared as though extinguished.

In full honesty, it was only now, over six months after his death, that George's smirk had started to resurface. It wasn't a smirk so much as it was an upward pull of his lips. She and George had grown closer in the weeks before her return to school. Ron was helping out at the shop and she'd poke around and look over some of his inventions; she'd listen to him as he thought aloud. She knew it was because he was still getting used to his own voice, and not the chatter of his twin bouncing ideas right back. So she'd him questions, tell him about little muggle tricks she had liked growing up. She sensed he liked her because she didn't give him the kicked puppy, lost a twin, and an ear look others did. She figured it didn't help saying "I'm sorry about Fred" or "You doing ok George?" every time she saw him. She'd made it a game of sending him bad jokes thru the post and he'd return with sugar quills and day dream fancies " _To help with your N.E. ._ " he would write back. She didn't care for the jokes, but she did care for George.

But she hadn't seen _this_ George yet. His expression _now_ was one she hadn't seen since Bill's Wedding when Fred had talked of Billius and family traditions. _This_ was the Weasley Twin she knew and had grown up with. The twin she had once threatened to write to Molly about.

His eyes weren't weighed down. Grief carved wrinkles were absent from his face.

Even the mischievous spark was back untarnished.

"Welcome back to the world of the living Granger," he smiled, setting the box of Weasley Whizzbangs on her bed tray, folding his arms and looking down at her as though she had done the prankster proud by opening her eyes,"You gave us a good scare."

"Have you stolen some of my drugs?" Hermione asked, trying to lift herself up against her pillows. The pain seemed to have a second opinion as she raised her elbows to lift her up, "Don't get me wrong George, I'm happy to share. You seem in a happy mood—"

"You chased Umbridge out of the castle, pursued by a hoard of centaurs, of course I'm happy," he winked, leaning back into the chair next to her bed "Walked back into the castle after we got word on you three and Peeves gave me a damn salute. I could bloody well kiss you Granger."

 _That was nearly three years ago, why are you talking about that?_ Perhaps the medical staff had given them all something, had pity on George, the maimed Weasley hero, and gave him some painkillers too. Oh another tabloid, _WWW Owner hospitalized for painkiller addiction…_

"Are we still in Switzerland or did Harry and Ron get the Swiss Ministry to send me back?" she asked, looking at her surroundings a bit more carefully. She knew she had been here before. It looked more like the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. The ceiling had a style that was much older than the new hospital they had driven by on their way up the mountain.

George looked at her confused, the cheerful tenor of his voice lowered as he hesitantly placed his hand on her head, "What number did they do on you?"

"It's alright, I'm fine," she brushed off, not used to this from him. Perhaps dating his little brother, she was likely to get these occasional outburst of affection? No—even then this was too foreign. What had been key in George and her's friendship was _not_ being overtly affectionate. This was foreign. "I learned my lesson."

"I doubt that," George answered, shaking his head as he took his hand away, a soft chuckle in his words"And I'd expect you to do the same if you could again. You're a good friend Hermione."

"Oh yeah, ditching Harry and Ron at a ski for beginners class , that's a marvelous idea. Skiing by myself for the first time in years on the lone side of the mountain, knowing quite well that there was an avalanche watch—even better."

The crease between his eyebrows grew together again, his carefree eyes going dark as they had when his twin had died. He was starting to look uncomfortable, as though perhaps he was out of place and he needed to call for Madame Pomfrey. Was she here? Obviously if she was back at Hogwarts—but she still didn't understand. Why take her back to Hogwarts? Why not St. Mungos? This was a muggle injury, she could have gone to one of the NHS hospitals and been just as well of.

"Hermione, you weren't skiing. Don't you remember?" His hand hesitated again, lightly resting on her own. This time it felt as though he was trying to steady her, but she wasn't sure why. "The Healers said they had given you some medicine that may have altered your memories," he sighed. His eyebrows puckered for a moment and then relaxed, as he explained "Hermione, you went with Harry and Ron to the Ministry to save Sirius last night —remember? You were dueling a Death Eater when he attacked you and knocked you out. You dueled _Dolohov_ —"

 _That was three years ago—_

"George, that was years ago, not yesterday" she said, growing frustrated, "I remember. It was the summer before you two opened the shop."

The crease momentarily gave way to a look of shock."We haven't been— We open next week. How did you—"

 _No, that was three years ago—_

Her temples were pulsing. It felt as though there was a sudden wave of heat hitting her and she felt clammy. _When we had taken down Umbridge and brought Dumbledore back to Hogwarts—that was three years ago—_

 _Before he died, before the Horcruxes, before—_

She looked at George again, avoiding his eyes and focusing in on his ears. He still had two.

"George—your ears…you have two ears—"

"So do you Hermione. Hopefully you've still got something between the two of them," he said, clearly uncomfortable. He had sat up from the chair, "Let me call for Madam Pomfrey, eh? Get you some potions."

She tightened her grip on his hand and she knew. She knew that he was just humoring her earlier. He hadn't wanted to throw her off guard, let her call him whatever, after all she had either come out of an avalanche or _the_ attack. _Two ears, the spark—he has the freckle on his adams apple—_

"Fred? Is that really you?"

* * *

((*))

* * *

Fred Weasley had been born on 1 April 1978 in Ludlow City, Shropshire. He and his twin, George, where actually three weeks early. His mother had gone to visit friends who were about to depart to Canada out of fear of the Dark Lord who had been rising in the country for the past decade. When the two were brought back to St. Ottery Catchpole a week later, they were welcomed by three older brothers and their Uncles, Fabian and Gideon Prewett, who had agreed to watch their nephews whist their sister and brother-in-law returned with the newborns.

Fred and his brother always shared a special connection to these Uncles, despite never having clear memories of them. Their mother had named them in their honor, Fred Gideon and George Fabian. Despite their deaths when the twins were toddlers, they had grown up with their mother telling them stories, especially those of their mischief. When these were confirmed during their first year at Hogwarts, they carried the uncles trunks, a golden "W" trying to cover up the former "P" of the Prewetts. When the brothers had to go thru detention records, the bond grew deeper and more respectful, a near reverence towards their long dead heroes. As the darkness returned to the country, Fred knew that he and George would, like their uncles before them, fight for a resistance.

And they had were proving themselves. Although they hadn't the experience of their younger brother who had been fighting Voldemort since he was 11, they were causing mischief wherever and whenever they could. Their joke shop, finally purchased now that they had the stock to supply it, would serve both as morale and an act of deviance. Thats what they had said hours ago as they celebrated at their flat above the apartment, toasting their success and christening the floor with the mead the had spilt over their cups.

But they hadn't had the chance to drink that mead.

Not a moment after they had clinked glasses their father's patronus arrived. _Your brother and sister have been in an accident. Meet us at the school._

Ron and Ginny didn't get in accidents, he had told George, grabbing their cloaks, "They're proving themselves for the Order," he had sworn under his breath, hoping he was wrong.

Sometimes he thought he and George hadn't been the best examples on safe living. Avoiding recklessness. He and George usually ran to it. And apparently, if you were friends with Harry Potter, you ran towards that same recklessness just as fast, with open arms. Regardless of the consequences.

When they got to the school, a wave of relief hit them at the sight of Ginny angrily bantering with a healer in Mungos robes. Pomfrey had called for some help, and apparently the intern had gotten stuck with Gin. "He can't set an ankle to save his life," she said thru grit teeth, before asking "Have you seen Ron yet? They won't let us—"

The relief drew away like the wave of a growing tsunami. There were five privacy barricades that had been set up, a sixth being assembled around Ginny. Two had five people milling about, but only one had five including a tall man with thinning red hair sticking out above. "We'll give it a look Gin, take it easy on him."

His father came out as they drew near, telling them what he and their mother knew. Mum had woke dad up when she went to bed, hitting him to say that Ron and Ginny were "In Mortal Peril" on the clock, and that they needed to get to the school immediately. He had just put on his robes when Remus appeared on their door step with a cut below his hollow eyes, telling them he would explain along the way—they were needed at the school.

Ron, Hermione and Harry had gone to the ministry last night with Luna, Neville and Ginny, thinking Sirius was in danger. It was all a rouse by Voldemort to lure Harry out, for what, they weren't even sure. Other than it was a threat. That if Voldemort had been victorious, he would've killed Harry and the rest and had the weapon their dad had been attacked for at Christmas time.

"Ron was attacked by some specimens from the Department of Mysteries. They have it under control now but there was a time when we first got here—" His father didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. His father would only have called if he thought there was a real threat towards one of his children's lives. Especially the two babies of the family.

"What about the others? We've only seen Ginny?"

"Dumbeldore's talking to Harry. They have Neville giving an account to McGonagall right now and he'll be back for some medicine before they let him sleep," his father explained, rubbing his temples. "The Lovegood girl is asleep in the barrier next to Ginny, she had minor injuries. Your mother's still with Ron. Hermione though—"

He turned to the barrier at the end of the way were there had been heads assembled and moving quickly. "Neville says she dueled a Death Eater when her Harry and Neville were trying to escape. The description he gave—it sounds like it was Dolohov."

That name was never spoken in their house growing up. It wasn't until he and George had dug into the archives one day, researching their uncles that the name first appeared, linked with their deaths. He had always imagined the face of the man that had killed them. Antonin Dolohov. His face in his imagination always twisted. Always dark. Always waiting for the moment where he could steal joy again, especially form the Weasleys.

"Is she still ok dad?" George asked, his thoughts having gone the same direction. _He didn't say dead. George would never assume Dead._

His father nodded, his eyes returning to the present."They brought her back. She'll have nightmares for a while, but without her they wouldn't have been able to make it out.

The tsunami wave rolled back with relief. They were all safe. All of them had made it through. Hermione had made it through.

He and George had left not long after that, promising to be back in the morning with some "Cheer Up, the world's falling apart but have a lolly" bags. He imagined there would take a life altering battle for Hermione to accept a joke shop gift, but perhaps Dolohov inspired nightmares would do the trick.

* * *

((*))

* * *

He could feel Hermione's grip tighten as she said his name a second time. Her eyes like her voice was soft, as though she wasn't quite sure who she was seeing. "Fred—is that really you?"

"If you'd rather George swing around your death bed I can grab him," he said, trying to shake her off. But the look in her eyes, something was different. And it was unnerving. It was as though her eyes where digging in with the strength of her hand. His own being pinched. "What is it Granger, you're looking at me like I'm back from the dead?"

Her grip loosened on his hand and she pulled away. "What's the date?" she asked, closing her eyes tightly, as though she was dreading the answer she already knew.

"12 June, I'm sure if you had an assignment—"

'What year Fred?" she asked, eyes open and alarmed, "Tell me, what year?"

 _They need to up her potions,_ he thought, _Dolohov made her more unpleasant than she normally is._

"1996. Same as when you woke up yesterday,"

"You don't get it—" she looked around trying to peak above the netting of the barriers but shrinking back at the pain, "Yesterday Harry Ron and I were in Switerzland—" she adjusted her weight carefully to alleviate the pain, "We were skiing with my parents—they had just come back from Australia—"

"Yesterday you were marching into the forest with Umbridge, you're probably just having a dream from the medicine. It sounds like you're going to have to take a few for a while… Not near as bad as Ronniekins but side effects—"

"It was 1999 Fred." she emphasized, her head throbbing, "It was 1999 and you were—"

Her hesitation lingered in the air. As though she didn't want to admit the words to either of them."It can't be 1996. It just can't."

He took her hand again, "Fine," he said, "For this moment, and this moment only, its 12 June 1999. I'm Fred Weasley and I'm hear to deliver two years worth of birthday and Christmas gifts to my dear friend Hermione Granger who has been in a coma. They're older models, we're bound to invent better jokes in three years time but let me tell you back in 1996—" he gave a low whistle " These were hot off the press."

He tugged on the string and out poured some the reusable hangman and a collection of treats they had created. The old ones he used to test in the common room. That she had nearly written to Molly about. Chocolate Frogs. Sugar Quills. "They're wonderful," she said, trying to hide the frustrated tears that he could see were pooling up.

Not on to a great roll if the jokes were making patients cry rather than laugh. Not a good omen.

* * *

((*))

* * *

"You can pick out you're own stuff when you come to the shop this summer, we'll have loads more," he said, leaning into the chair. He removed his hand from hers as he spoke vividly of the shop. How they were painting it in the morning, and that they were going to be looking for employees to help man the register so they could stick to inventing in the afternoons.

She tried to focus on his words but they were being drowned out as her mind raced over what had happened, and what was going to continue to happen.

It was 1996.

Fudge would be disposed by Noon.

Tonks and Lupin would waste one of the last years of their life fighting a relationship.

Dumbledore would be dead in a year.

They hadn't gone on the hunt for horcruxes.

 _It was 1996, they didn't know what a damn horcurx was. Harry's just finding out now he was the prophecy. He won't know about a Horcrux until next Christmas…_

Voldemort was still alive…everyone was still alive…

Fred stopped from his chatter and looked at her sternly, "Hermione, are you alright? You're pale—I'm going to get a healer—"

It was 1996. And Fred Weasley didn't know that in three years time he'd be back at Hogwarts, buried in a marble tomb.

* * *

AN: Again, Sans beta and edited on three hours sleep; sorry about that. Stay tuned for Friday update!~KH


	3. Free Falling

Free Falling

* * *

The coming days seemed to drag on like a thousand days locked in one week.

It was as though it was all a bad dream. There she was, trapped in her 16 year old self with her 19 year old state of mind. Waiting, with waining patience for some electric paddles from a Muggle Paramedic to pull her back from this hell to herself in the avalanche.

She had even thought that maybe this was, in fact real—as far as comas went. And perhaps Fred Weasley was pulling a prank on her before escorting her to the other side. He was the friend that would ferry her across the waters if she chose death. Hadn't Harry talked about waking up in Kings Cross when Voldemort killed him? Fred was one of her closest friends who died during the war. Why not him? Why not she wake up in Hogwarts Hospital Wing. Merlin knew she had spent enough time there in life.

But the shock never came from a paramedic. Fred dressing up in Dumbeldore's robes to ferry her across the lake didn't occur either. Instead it was sight of Ron and Harry when the barriers came down, Madam Pomfrey deciding it was easier to close the ward than it would be to separate them.

She hadn't realized how young they looked. She had to pinch her self to stop staring. She probably looked just as young.

She had just sat there for the longest time. She couldn't remember what she said three years ago when Harry came in after visiting with Dumbeldore. Had she offered some guiding light of " It'll be all right Harry" or "Sirius would've have killed himself had he known you were the reason they had all escaped the school for a faux rescue mission." _Sirius—_ she had probably tried to talk to him about Sirius— _of course you had. Not even dead two days and you wanted to have a discussion on his feelings…_

They'd asked how she was doing. If she could remember anything. She told them the same she had last time. That she was fine, just a little sore. That was a hell of a lie. She had her ten potions lined up in the pattern she had developed the first time around. She had developed a game of them the first time, making toasts in her head, trying them in her tea (not a good idea). The second round of this, the games had lost their novelty and the only spontaneity or fun she put with it was making sure there was a lemon shortbread cookie waiting for her afterwards.

Ginny's ankle had been fixed from the Healer's error by Madam Pomfrey, Neville's nose put back to size. Luna had left the same time Ginny did. Harry only came back to sleep in the Infirmary the first night. She had forgotten that it was just her and Ron that had stayed in the Hospital for more than one day. The first time, they had sat their in conversation wondering what they would do about Harry now, now that he had lost Sirius.

"We'll get him out of his Aunt and Uncles house earlier than usual," Ron resolved the first night Harry didn't come back. "No need to keep him there, especially when he thought he could go back and live with Sirius."

"We'll have to check with Dumbledore, but we could try," she repeated, looking at her friend as he lay in the bed next to her own. She turned on her side to look at him. The moon coming through the window she could see the light flame of his hair against the pillow, the welts from the Brains a slight pink in the moonlight. But he was talking, he was planning. He had that glint of stubborn drive that was so familiar with his twin brothers, but the past years had shown her it was shared amongst all the Weasleys. This was the Ron she had fallen in love with. The one that cared so passionately for his friends. The one that would move heaven and hell if it helped that one friend.

She was certain that the first time around, they had long chats. It was in this time that she had thought maybe she started liking him. But everything was easier the first time around. The First time around it was all unscripted and spontaneous. This time, she was trying to say lines she had whispered so long ago.

Ron kept his eyes dancing in the distance. There was a sense of panic, of urgency as he did so. He had confessed to her, after the War, when they were in their first few weeks of cozy talks of possible futures, that in the days following the Department of Mysteries he had visions of them dying. All of them. That he would look at a person and when he blinked he saw them dead, or injured. And that he had to dart his eyes every now and again in hopes that a new face would have a better outcome. _Side effects of the brains, you know?_

 _Did you see me dead?_ she had asked, and the tightening grip of his hand in hers gave her the chilling answer before he could string together the words.

He rolled over on his side too now facing her. His eyes darted so quick she could only assume that's what he was seeing now. "It's going to be alright Ron," she told him with all the resolve she had. And it was she _knew_ it was going to be alright. She had lived through it. She had instinctively reached out and held his hand at one of these moments, her thumb dancing over the welt left from the brains— but he looked away "Good night," he muttered as his ears blushed pink, rolling over

 _You don't fall asleep holding hands till your on the run…._

 _Till your on the bloody run…._

* * *

((*))

* * *

The Sunday following her arrival, the rescue party reassembled in the Hospital wing between their beds. She was set to be discharged the next morning with Ron, and she was counting the moments before she could run to the library and see if she could figure out if there was a medical explanation for her situation.

Her friends had set up their afternoon listening to Ron reading the news paper article announcing Voldemort's return. Ginny was spread out at the foot of Hermione's bed eating some of the licorice ropes Fred and George had placed in their bags while Luna flipped through her Quibbler, oblivious to Neville looking at her curiously from his seat. Hermione smirked to herself, _here we go, I'm doomed to come back to notice all the things I missed the first time around._

Harry sat at the foot of Ron's bed, listening to the newspaper that had, weeks ago, suggested he be institutionalized now sing his praises.

 _Oh Harry—_

Where she had been amazed by the enthusiasm and optimistic faith that shone from Fred's face when he had visited her, she felt a pain set in her stomach when she looked at Harry. He was so raw. He had always been raw in his emotions. She didn't know if it was because she had grown up with him or if they had stared death in the face so many times, but she felt like she could read Harry's emotions better than she could her own or Ron's. When Voldemort had offered to spare them all if Harry came to him, she knew it was going to happen. She knew it the moment his shoulders settled with his mental sigh.

And she knew the way he looked right now was one that he hadn't accepted that Sirius was gone quite yet.

There were days before the feast, He was still wondering if there was a slim chance Sirius would return as a ghost. He'd asked Nearly Headless Nick as much.

But she knew how this all ended. And she knew he _was_ going to be alright. Even if he didn't believe it already.

So that's why she didn't feel to bad as she passed him a list of books she wanted from the Library.

"You know that the term's ended right Hermione?" he asked looking down the half dozen books she had scribbled on the back of her medical schedule.

"Humor me Harry," she begged, wincing as she tried sitting up, "I thought of something when we were—in the Ministry. I need to do some research and Madam Pince won't let me take books out over the summer. If you took the cloak—"

The wince had done the trick, he gave a nod and by the end of visiting hours he had snuck back to the Hospital Wing with his arms filled with the requested reading.

"You're going to read all of those before we get out of her tomorrow?" Ron asked wearily. "Come on Hermione, am I that poor a conversationalist?"

"I just have some question I want answered before I forget," she lied, knowing very well that there was not even the slightest chance she could forget. But she didn't want to deal with a Weasley Inquisition.

Madam Pomfrey put out the lights at 10:30. She and Ron stayed up talking about how they'd distract Harry this summer until Ron fell asleep around 11. She pulled her wand out of the drawer and sent four little orbs of blue flames around her bed, giving just enough light to make out the passages in " _Gallifrey Travels in Time and Space" "Magical Oddities Vol.4" "Accidental Apperation in the Modern Age"_ and " _Time Turners in the last century."_

Her eyes temporarily glanced to Professor Umbridge who was passed out in the bed down the row. She thought back to the Horcruxes, if memory served right, Professor Umbridge should have Slytherin's locket around her neck. She felt the knot in her stomach tighten. _What would change if I grabbed the locket now?_

If they had the locket now, they wouldn't have to storm the ministry.

They wouldn't have to head out on the run. They wouldn't need to vacate Grimmauld Place for that matter. Their exodus to the woods could wait till she was better stocked. Till absolutely necessary. Yes, she'd have to have a piece of jewelry more possessed than anything Tolkien could create for over a year, but she'd save them trouble. She'd pull it out when they were searching the house. Keep it hidden till then, somewhere she wouldn't have worry. Gringotts? No—somewhere accessible, she had had a hard time withdrawing money after her sixth year, opening a security box would trigger the onset of the Muggleborn Regestration Commission.

 _The Muggleborn Registration Commission…_

They'd save themselves the trouble, but they wouldn't be there to save the Cattermoles.

She hadn't ever learned what happened to them after they met in the Ministry, but she knew that they and their children had had enough warning to flee the country. And what about the others who had saved themselves in the scuffle to leave? How many families had been given a second chance to flee Britain because the three of them had been able to give them a second chance?

She tip toed out of bed, a slight blue light appearing from her wand. _If we get it now, maybe it wouldn't get so bad._ She could give it to Dumbeldore. Dumbeldore had died trying to get the locket. If they saved Dumbledore's life, how many more could be save? Couldn't that off balance the dangers faced by the Cattermoles?

She tried to imagine giving the locket to Dumbledore. She tried to go through the conversation " _Sir, I found this in Grimmauld last year, I know I shouldn't have kept it, but it was so lovely—"_ he'd see through that, but he'd survive. They'd have Dumbledore for the war. If Dumbledore lived, how many more lives might be saved?

 _Dangerous things happen to wizards who meddle with time,_ her own voice echoing in her ears from years before.

Her heart sunk when she reached Umbridge's bed and saw the necklace wasn't there. Reality crashed down on her. The necklace was either still at Grimmauld or was in the process of being looted by Madungus at this moment—The Order having vacated the moment Sirius died. It was probably already gone.

She felt a rush of disappointment sweep in on her. _You can't change the past Hermione,_ she lectured herself, _you know the consequences, you know the price. Has a year on the run soiled your regards for the rules that much?_

Returning to her bed, she fell asleep around four. She had no Horcrux to save Dumbledore, neither did she have any answers on how she got here to begin with. She had thought perhaps Fred's Bracelet was partially responsible, but her last book had squashed any ties to that. Besides, all of the time turners had been destroyed in their rescue attempt. There was no way that her bracelet, which she had yet to find among her personal effects, had enough of a kick to send her back to the past…it had to be something else. But whatever it was, there was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn't be finding an easy way back, if she could find a way back at all.

* * *

((*))

* * *

When Hermione reached Kingscross Station, she realized how much the War had changed everyone.

The smoking rolling off the engine cast the group of parents assembled at the platform into another time. Hermione had a grandmother who had died when she was a little girl, who had spent Sunday afternoons when Hermione was a girl telling her of being sent from London to live in the country during the war. She had told Hermione what it was like to wave good bye to parents and head off into the unknown of strangers. Hermione was starting to get a good idea what the scene looked like.

There were some parents going thru the papers, others talking quickly and quietly with each other, eyes darting. Some of them had bags of their own, as thought they were going to disappear with their child the moment they got off the train. She was trying to remember how many people didn't come back her sixth year. There was a small number. Some, having given up the idea that Hogwarts was the safest place to be.

Several students had transferred to Beauxbatons. There was even a handful that had gone to the Americas thinking distance would be better than anything else in staying alive admist the Second Rise of the Death Eaters.

But there were always more that stayed behind.

As the train reached the station, she was surprised to see only her parents genuinely smiling. They had no idea how much danger their daughter had faced, nor how much darker the world had becomes over the past week and a half. If they knew how large a target their daughter had on her, if they had known what her friendship with Harry meant…

She could see Lupin talking with her parents and she wondered, trying to remember if he was telling them what had happened.

Hermione had been very bad—or good—at informing her parents of what was going on in the world. She hadn't ever seen the need of explaining to her parents just _why_ Harry was as famous as he was. They knew his parents had died and lived with his Aunt and Uncle in Surrey, but otherwise, they didn't know he was nearly murdered as a baby. They knew she had been sick towards the end of her second year, but they hadn't known she was a victim of a Basilisk attack. She had never seen the point of that changing… until the Department of Mysteries.

If she remembered right, this was the year that she sat her parents down in their Saturday afternoon tea time and told them they needed to be careful. This was the summer that she evenly explained that there was more danger in her world of purple wrapped chocolate frogs and singing teacups than she had ever let on. This was the summer she explained Death Eaters. And that, as one of Harry Potters better known friends, they needed to be careful least a Death Eater sneak into the office.

She also remembered that as soon as she told her parents this, they demanded she stay home and not return to school. She had to beg. She knew the news had frightened her parents. And that her normally brave mother was more anxious, or so her father wrote.

 _I won't tell them this time,_ she thought to herself. There were other ways of protection, not just her frightening them. No need to do that. She'd write to McGonagall. She'd know what to do. She had worked with her Parents as a part of the Transition Program her first year, helping them realize her daughter was a witch, but was in good hands all the while she was gone.

They got off the train and made the same threats to the Dursleys as they always did, resulting in Harry's walrus of an Uncle waddle off in a scowl. As the Dursleys and Harry disappeared in the crowd, She felt a hand on her shoulder and whipped around to see the still very living, very breathing Fred.

"You doing alright Granger?" he asked, a smirked tucked in the corners of his face, "Need the date for today?"

"Its such a good thing you don't know muggle movies, or you'd have the whole lexicon of Marty McFly to pull from," she responded rolling her eyes, holding in a laugh. "Don't worry Fred, I'm safe and sound in 1996."

He looked puzzled for a second, before brushing off confusion with a laugh. She looked him over, she forgot he used to wear that ridiculous Dragon Jacket. She only saw him wear it this once. The next summer Charlie was in the country and he would have been murdered on sight had his older brother seen a hide draping him.

"Nice jacket Fred," she said with a smile, her fingers brushing the scaled sleeves that tickled her finger tips "Shop's going well yeah?"

"Death count goes high, so does the need to smile again I guess," he responded too quick. Realizing what he said, he tried to back peddle, "That came out wrong, what I meant—"

"It's alright," she lowered her voice, "Just not in front of my parents. They aren't to know, got it?"

He gave her a dubious look, as though he was disappointed. "Hermione, you know—" For a split second, she supposed that maybe he was going to say something to her about it, about how she should tell them. But her dad saved the day, "Ready to go Hermione?"

She looked up at Fred, dismissing his cut off words with an uncharacteristc hug, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. They weren't huggers. They were British. Hermione most assuredly, and especially towards Fred. She was positive that this was the first hug they had shared in all the years and summers she had spent at the Burrow. _But he's dead in two years,_ she thought hugging him a little bit tighter than she normally would anyone else. Like she didn't want to let go. As if, perhaps if she held on to him this bit longer, he'd never meet the wall. She felt his arm circle her, steadily holding her in as though he too was unpleasantly surprised at the sudden change in emotion. "Have a good summer Fred, Go on and make us laugh," she whispered.

She didn't look back to see the confusion on his face, or the tint of pink in Ron's ears, but she did walk away with a new resolution. To treat people as though every time she saw them was the very that time she would.

Because for some of them, there was only so many encounters left.

* * *

((*))

* * *

"People seemed, off this year at the platform," he father settled into their compartment on the train that would take them back to their home in Essex, "Anything happen in your world this year?

"Just some mix up at the Ministry, they're going to have an election this week," Hermione side stepped. _I won't tell them. They don't need to know._

"Must be a serious election, Molly looked like she hadn't gotten much sleep lately," her mother chided in, looking again at their daughter dubiously.

"She's like that when ever the boys come home," she lied, "The election might be tied to Mr. Weasley's job, I can't remember how well his department is effected."

"Hopefully they'll manage through," Her father answered, pulling out his copy of the _Times_ , "Good people," he muttered, his glasses slipping down the thin bridge of his nose. His eyes glanced through headlines, "Looks like there experiencing storms to the south, I don't know if we can make it to the West Country with how unexpected the Weather's been."

 _It's not a storm—_

"Maybe we shouldn't go to the West Country this year," Hermione suggested. Her father liked going their for the Arthurian Legend. Ever since he found a Merlin Chocolate Frog Card, he had become an enthusiast and it had taken a theme in the Grangers Vacations thru Britain. He sighed, "Caroline, I think we've reached the _parents-are-uncool_ years."

"Now Richard," her mother sighed, "You said the same thing yourself." She turned to her daughter, "We know you're going to be busy next year preparing for your tests, we just want to make sure we get to see you before you head back. Mr. Lupin made it sound like Molly was just going to fix some things around the house and then you'd be invited over. Don't have too many summers left with you sweetie, that's all."

She knew what was coming. She knew all too well that she'd be home three weeks tops before Pig zoomed into the kitchen window.

The first time around, three years ago, she had completed her homework the first week and proceeded to spend the remaining two going on walks thru the library and trying to think how she could secure her parents safety while she was away. She had also spent considerable time reading up on "How to help a friend thru death of loved one" books at the library so she'd have the answers and help Harry needed when the time came.

What she hadn't done was spend too much time with her parents. Both of them worked 9-5 at the dentist office. She'd meet them for lunch, but that was it. When her father had suggested they go out on an adventure, Hermione veined bad headaches until the letter came from Pig.

 _But this year—if you really have to do this a second time—_

When they were hunting for horcruxes, she had missed this. Her, sitting with her parents trying to be the perfect, happy little English Family. Her father reading the paper in the compartment while her mother tried to keep her up to date with all her former classmates at the grammar school down the way.

"Maybe we could do a family vacation before then?" she asked, looking at her parents, "that is, if you can scrape a Holiday together on the dime."

She watched the usual smile pull at her mother lips and her dad look above the paper amused. "We haven't been camping in a while, have we?" he asked and Hermione almost instantaneously wished she could eat her words.

* * *

AN: Again Sans Beta... Special thank you to everyone supporting me and your encouragement! I appreciate it! Any and fall feedback is welcome. Until next time~KH


	4. Falling Apart

Falling Apart

* * *

She woke up to the sounds of crickets outside her tent.

Lifting her head up, she could see the faint rays of sunlight starting to fill the morning. Her parents were still asleep next to her in this three person tent. The past few days had given her a new appreciation for wizard camping. This single room, closed in campus mess would have resulted in her killing Harry and Ron before their search for the Horcruxes ever began.

Careful not to make a ruckus, she quietly slipped out of her sleeping bag and unzipped the door to go out side. It was a brilliant morning. They had gone to the Forest of Dean. One she had grown to love—or at least, become familiar with—in real life. The glowing sunrise made the allusion of glowing trees green. Mixed with the crickets was the song of a swallow perched two or three meters over. They're tent was at the top of a hill and her surrounding beautiful. Picking up one of the fallen branches beside the tent, she decided to get the breakfast started and surprise her parents. Yes, she could't use magic, but she had picked up on some tricks on the run.

As she head to the campfire ground they had structured yesterday, ten or so meters away from the tent—her mum always afraid of a spark flying—She saw that someone was waiting for her. He was taller then she remembered. Dressed in white robes Harry had described after the battle. His silver beard becoming lost in the green grass at his feet.

His clear blue eyes seemed to stab at her own, as though he was trying to determine how to place her. She halted for a moment, her summer bounce gone.

She hadn't seen him when she was at the castle. When she was at the castle, she was still somewhat convinced this wasn't real. She was disappointed with herself that she hadn't gone to seek him out. But she had never need to seek him out before. It was always Harry who did. She was usually the one urging him to go; that's why now, standing in her jim-jams with fire wood in hand, Hermione Granger wished she could just apparate to the present and leave this encounter behind her.

She resumed her walk until she was right in front of him,"Good morning Professor Dumbledore."

"Good Morning Miss Granger," he replied, the hinting of a twinkle in his eyes. "Or rather, good yesterday to you Miss Granger."

Her head popped up and she looked at him with wide, thankful eyes. The all knowing Dumbledore, _Thank Merlin—_ "Believe me sir, I didn't—"

"You didn't mean to come and yet you are here,"His voice wasn't harsh. It wasn't judging. She had forgotten how much she appreciated the comfort that came from Dumbledore. How much they had relied on that steady hand.

He walked with her to the fire ground, where sat two chairs she didn't recognize next to a fire of emerald flames. Had he made this part of the floo network? He didn't have any ashes on his white robes. They were brilliant white. As though dirt had never touched them. He ran his hand against the air and a silver tea-set appeared. He poured her a cup, placing it in her hands. "

She shook her hand, "I'll never understand how you did that," she said inquisitively. "It doesn't seem to fit anywhere in Gamp's Rules of Transfiguration, unless—can you transfigure the molecules out of the air like that? Is that even possible?"

He gave her a kind smile, like she was a first year blurting something out in class, "Ah Miss Granger, sometimes the reasons things don't fit in are because we haven't thought that they might fit there. Much like our choices, or are travels."

"Sir—"

He held up his tea and looked at her over his rimmed glasses."You have been sent back, and yet you're choosing nothing different," he stopped, taking a drink of the tea. She mimicked him and did likewise. It was delicious, and more calming than anything else. But the calm disappeared as Dumbledore resumed talking."Miss Granger, it is not well to play the part of a god."

There was a crack and next to him appeared an additional chair. There sat Mad-Eye Mood on her left. He was in the clothes he wore the night he flew above Surrey with Mundungus. He looked as though he too was looking at Dumbledore, but farther in the distances. His magic eye staying fixed on something in the distance as well. _It was as though he didn't see her._

Another crack, and there was Dobby on her right, in a fresh pressed pillow didn't beam at her like he normally did. He too was looking straight in the distance as well.

 _Crack,_ here sat Lupin and Tonks were on Mad-Eye's left, holding hands, the pink in their cheeks the only thing different then when she found them in them in the Great Hall. _Crack—_ Collin Creevey, camera in hand. _Crack—_ Lavender Brown before Greyback ripped her to shreds. _Crack—_ Nigel, little Nigel.

"Nor does it do well to play the part of a meddling god, Miss Granger," a final _crack_ and in the chair next to Dumbledore, directly across from him, sat Fred Weasley. He was looking directly at her, the rising sun causing his hair to look a flame. He was different than the rest. He could _see_ her. They were facing each other. He could recognize her, the awkward scene around them. He was acknowledging her, looking confused " _Hermione—"_

A large crack rang from her ears silencing Fred. She shielded her eyes, thinking perhaps there was something coming out of the fire. When the noise had passed she opened and saw the sheer horror of what remained.

Infront of her, in a circle, was nine marble tombs. The names of those interred staring at her as though she was an unwelcome spectator. The glow of light that had set Fred's now illuminated the gold name that marked his tomb.

"It does not do well to do nothing" the voice spoke from behind her as a final crack echoed again.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Her heart raced as she looked around her tent. Her parents were gone. She could hear their voices outside talking. The tent was bright and hot—it was warmer then it had been while she was dreaming. _It was just a dream—_ she told herself. _It was just a dream—_

But she didn't know what to do anymore. She didn't know what she was _supposed_ to do.

They had been camping for a little over a week. Skipped rocks, going on hikes. Enjoying a momentary get away. Around this time last go around, she had been back at the Burrow under the consistent parental watch of Molly Weasley. Here, she was in the relaxed company of her blissfully unaware muggle parents. It was almost irreverent how unaware her parents were. As though they were laughing like kids in the middle of a funeral service.

But they would be headed home soon, and then the spell would be broken and she'd have to think of her lot again. The radio channel they were getting out here had reported storms to the south last night, and Hermione had a growing feeling that it wasn't _simply_ a storm.

She put on a jumper and got out of the tent. Crookshanks looked at her curiously. That was another thing. Even her damn cat knew something was a foot. She had been suspicious of her since she got out of the Hospital. She still wasn't persuaded that her cat didn't suspect her of something. She started walking towards the distance where she had seen Dumbledore. She could here her mom at the camp fire waving her on, "Morning sweetheart, we've made breakfast," her dad was grinning over the sausages he had managed not to burn.

She sat on the stool her parent had set up by the fire. "Dad, I need—"

"Some eggs, I agree. But someone thought they'd crack so its only sausage and toast for us," her father interrupted, winking at his wife. "Come on I have a granola bar if this is rubbish."

"Dad I need—"

"Some food I know sweets, We'll pick something out when we leave today." Mr Granger answered again, "Good Heavens Caroline, you'd think we'd starved the girl all week.

Hermione lifted her head up bewildered, "We're going home?"

"You're mum forgot she made an appointment for tomorrow," Mr Granger replied, rolling the sausage around the pan, and taking some of the not so burnt ones for Hermione's plate. "Woke me up in the middle of the night reminding me."

Hermione took her breakfast, "Hang on, tomorrow's sunday. The office isn't open sunday."

"It's not a patient," her mum said between bites, "Professor McGonagall wanted to stop by tomorrow morning and chat."

Hermione couldn't not envision her emerald robed, hair in a bun, bifocals Professor stopping in on her suburban street. "What do you mean?"

"She wrote before we went on vacation. I forgot about it as soon as I responded. She wanted to meet earlier but I said we were going on Holiday."

A wizarding war going on and her mother tells the woman who could save their lives to reschedule due to family holiday. Bless.

But it was unfolding around her. Professor McGonagall hadn't come around a second time. In the three weeks she was home the summer before her 6th year, Professor McGonagall never made any calls on the Grangers. Not that she could remember. And Hermione would remember.

"Did she say why she was coming?"

"Follow up on that injury of yours," Her mum answered, pulling a carton of juice out of the food locker, " Which reminds me, have you taken your medicine today?"

"I'm nearly off the last one," Hermione sighed. It was the particularly nasty one.

Her father looked up as he put more sausages on the fire, "What happened sweetheart, you were vague and McGonagall didn't include anything in the letter other than she was interested in a follow up."

"There was an accident," she explained, "At school we had a club called the DA—Defense Association—it was a club we made up to study and practice for our exams. One day we just got too close and I wasn't paying attention—accidentally got bumped into a cocktail of spells and I woke up in the Hospital Wing."

It was the same story she had rehearsed before and just like last time, her parents complied. "There weren't any teachers?" her mum asked, looking at her warily "Surely they should have been there—"

"It was more student lead." she explained, picking at her breakfast. It was a good thing they were going home. Their food rations, though still better then when _she_ went camping, were definitely headed in that direction.

Her father looked at the burnt breakfast remains and threw them to the fire. "You know, if you were in a normal school, that'd look good on a university application"

"Do wizards have universities?"her mother spoke up, "Maybe something closer to home?"

Hermione sighed, distracted or now. Her parents would go on about universities now for the next couple of hours. They'd even volunteer to send her pamphlets she she was at school. She had never had time for them. They'd say something about cleaning up, continue talking about universities for the next two hours on a hike around the lake, return to their camp site and pack up and how they'd stop at the little place they'd passed when they first drove into town.

She looked into the distance, settling everything into compartments in her mind, while trying to grapple what the next step would be. Professor McGonagall coming to speak with her, that's new. She could ask what to do with her family. She could ask about time turners and the lore around them. If anyone knew it was McGonagall. But could she tell her about the accident and not be locked away in St. Mungos? How could she convince her to see the headmaster?

"Hermione, lets clean up, wash up and take one last hike eh?"

If only everything was as predictable as her father and his camping trips.

* * *

((*))

* * *

When her mother had said Minerva McGonagall was coming to visit, she assumed she'd be opening the door for her teacher in her usual appearance. Even when she came to explain the Letter and Hogwarts as a first year, she had appeared in emerald robes, hair tucked in a bun. Only her familiar hat missing.

But today, when she opened the door, Professor McGonagall was wearing a navy skirt and billowing cream top, the arms loose making her look as though she had just taken a stroll on the boardwalk in the twenties, not the halls of Hogwarts.

Her hair was still up, but the bun more relaxed. Professor McGonagall smiled, exchanged pleasantries with her mother, and then came into the sitting room, Hermione following behind them.

"Not much has changed since I was first here," she acknowledged, looking at the room. It was true little had ever changed in the Granger home. This room still had the same wallpaper as when they brought Hermione home from the hospital. She walked towards one of the walls that had a few family pictures—Picking Hermione up at Kings Cross her first year, their vacation to France in her third, the most recent a skiing picture before she disappeared last Christmas—her teacher looked at them and smiled warmly, "Well, somethings have changed, but not many."

"How are things at School?" Hermione asked, pouring four cups of tea. Professor McGonagall sat down, looking at the Grangers. "Its better now that the Headmaster is back. We're waiting to see how much the new Minister will try to interfere this year."

"Oh yes how did the election pan out?" Her father asked excitedly. Evan Ganger was a man of no political interest, but he was a man who tried desperately to understand and be familiar with his daughter's other world. Even if he was sadly always misinformed by said daughter, "Weasley's man pull through?"

Professor McGonagall looked at Hermione oddly, and for a minute she wondered if McGonagall was the mind reader Dumbledore had been. " I suppose you could say that. Rufus Scrimegour will hopefully prove a better than minister than Fudge," she seemed to purse her lips as she said his name, "but only time will tell. Mr. Weasley did seem pleased to know Fudge wouldn't be staying around."

"Hermione was telling us there were to be elections this summer," Mrs. Granger interjected, com in into the sitting room with an old tea set. "You're government's set up similar to ours?"

"Yes, completely similar down to the level of our incompetence" Her parents laughed and Hermione held back an eye roll. "Is everyone doing well? Hermione asked, "i haven't gotten much mail."

"Everyone is doing fine, the question they're asking is how you're feeling Miss Granger," McGonagall answered, looking her pupil down, "Not as sore and stiff as when you left Hogwarts?"

"I'm doing better, all of the Potions Madam Pomfrey sent me home with are almost gone," Hermione admitted. In full honestly, what wasn't gone this morning was getting thrown down the sink tomorrow morning. She knew she was fine. These last two potions were nothing but a calming draught and sleep aide. _Maybe not down the sink—_ she could use them on the horcurx hunt again.

McGonagall looked at her face as though she was trying to nail something down, some detail that may be escaping her, "No nightmares, no flashbacks?"

Hermione shrugged, "None out of the ordinary."

The Professor lifted up the tea cup and then set it down again, "Good. Molly and Arthur are hoping you're still planning on visiting them this summer, Harry's already arrived."

 _That can't be—I beat him there my sixth year, how can he already be there?_

"Our vacation ran long I'm afraid," Mr. Granger shrugged, leaning back into the chair"Not often I get to take my girls camping."

"Sweetheart, the way you cook when we do go, you wonder why we're hesitant to have a follow up," Mrs. Granger chuckled, "Hermione, you can write to Ron this week and tell him you're parents are done holding you hostage. If Harry's there it's only a matter of time before them come looking for trouble to get into."

"It's always those three," McGonagall sighed, her parents chuckling and Hermione squirming on the chase."I'll let Molly know. Tonks has an assignment in the area, we can coordinate with her and she'll escort you to the Burrow."

"Tonks is in Essex?" Hermione asked suddenly. This was another new development. Tonks hadn't been here the second time. _Or maybe she was? You didn't know—you just assumed she was watching Harry. Maybe there was someone else? But who was the other wizard or witch in Essex?_

"Just a brief assignment, It's coming to an end soon," she dismissed, "Now before I go, Mr and Mrs Granger, I want to urge you to be careful in the coming weeks."

 _Oh Merlin—is she telling them?_

"Careful?"

"Why?"

Professor McGonagall shot Hermione a quick look that told her she should have told her parents the second round as she had in the first. "There's a dark wizard on the run. He has a band of followers who have a violent history towards both our kinds. It would be in your best interest to be wary of any suspicious characters. If you'd like i can have a charm put on the house and your office. It's not the most protective charm, but its a level of disillusionment that should prove useful if necessary."

She didn't even need to ask. Professor McGonagall was one set ahead of her. "Is Hermione ok?"

"She will be," Professor Mcgonagall said without missing a step, "the Weasley's are well aware of whats going on and have filled in Harry and Ron. Rest assured, that the staff at Hogwarts will do everything they can to protect the students."

Mr and Mrs Granger looked at each other for a moment, Hermione's mum finally asking "Would it be better if we enrolled her in a normal school this year?"

"No—"

Her mother continued, "But if there's a threat—Hermione's from a normal family, she wouldn't be a target. She would blend in well at a normal school, she'd be a little behind in her studies but—no one would—"

Professor McGonagall shot Hermione another look, "The could and would find a way Mrs. Granger. Your daughter has great talent in magic and it's a known fact. It wouldn't take long for them to find her and then others would be at risk to. Hogwarts is safe. There hasn't been any hostile action towards the school in over 500 years."

 _Just give it three—_

"We'll have to talk about it—"Hermione shot a look at McGonagall.

"If you'd like we can resume the correspondence we had her first year. We'll keep you informed at all times."

"No need for that Professor," her father answered, his hand taking that of his wife's. She was almost convinced he'd say she'd be going to school as a muggle. End of conversation. But then her father said something that surprised her. "Hermione's a witch, she belongs with her people. If Hogwarts is where Hermione will be safest, Hogwarts it will be."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Her parents where in the kitchen working on lunch after Professor McGonagall had left. She could hear them talking in low tones, but she took the door and trailed her Professor.

"Professor McGonagall!" she called out jogging to her teacher. She was halfway to the lamppost. Why she hadn't apparated in Hermione's house, she'd never know—quite frankly she didn't care. She felt like she was harboring some lethal secret, and she supposed in some ways she was.

Professor McGonagall stopped and turned around, "Is there something the matter Miss Granger?"

"I was just hoping to have a word," she said, motioning over to the bench that sat beside the Granger's front door, "If you have a moment before your next appointment."

The Professor turned around and returned to the Granger yard. Just a strip of grass behind a fence her dad had built when she was younger. Sitting on the bench she looked at her pupil, "I would be lying if I didn't tell you I'm surprised you haven't told your parents whats going on in our world."

"I didn't want them to worry," she lied. _You did things right the first time around,_ a voice raddled in her brain, _you weren't nearly as sentimental. You were practical. You were in survival mode._ She dismissed the voice. "Besides, you heard mum; if they knew how bad it was they wouldn't let me go back. I'd be enrolled in a muggle school. And that would only put others at risk."

"That is also true," McGonagall sighed, leaning back into the bench."And You-know-who had his followers attacked many a muggle school for that reason the first time he rose to power." Fidgeting in her pocket she pulled out a silver canister that looked like the Dilluminator. Pointing it in the direction of the window behind them, a ray of white light hit it, sealing itself to the edges. "No one will be able to over hear from the house Miss Granger. Whatever you have to tell me, you can do so in complete privacy."

Her fingers began to fidget herself. Then a different voice came into mind, _This is ridiculous. You are Hermione Granger, a time traveling, Death Eater Battling, witch who is the brightest of your age. You can do this!_ a voice she recognized as a Weasley twin coached from within, "I don't know where to begin."

"The beginning I believe," McGonagall coaxed, "I Believe thats where one starts things."

"Right—well, there was an accident."

"In the Department of Mysteries—"

"No," Hermione interrupted, taking in a deep breath. "No, it was in Switzerland."

McGonagall was looking at her as though she had said something silly, this was the look usually reserved for Ron, or Seamus— "Hermione, you haven't been to Switzerland since Christmas—"

"It wasn't that trip Professor, it was more recent—"

"We've had people trailing you Miss Granger, you haven't left the continent since Christmas."

" _What_?!" This was news to her, the present her; she had guessed at time but never—"Who—Why are people trailing me?"

Professor McGonagall looked around and sighed, "Since the return of You-Know-Who, the Order thought it would be— _prudent—_ to have a watch over some of the more vulnerable witches and wizards. As a very talented witch, who is also very good friends to Harry Potter _and_ is also a Muggleborn, you seemed the prime candidate for a watch. Rest assured, It's been Tonks and I watching, and always from a distance."

"i don't know if I like that better or worse."

"Remus Lupin also volunteered," McGonagall explained looking into the distance, "But he's watching a little Muggleborn in Kent, he sends his regards though. Most of the Order is watching Potter, but there are others that need watching after as well."

Hermione had a swelling of gratitude in her heart towards her teacher, "Thank you Professor."

"Now tell me about this accident—"

"We were in Switzerland. And I—Professor I know I shouldn't have wondered off but I did. Harry and Ron were in the beginners class and I just needed some time alone—"

"Harry Potter has never left the island Miss Granger," McGonagall interrupted again. "And Mr. Weasley has only done so for Travel to Egypt. Neither have seen Switzerland."

"They do though," Hermione felt exhausted, "Professor, I was on Christmas Holiday in 1999, there was an avalanche. I woke up in the Hospital Wing with Fred Weasley telling me it was 1996."

Hermione had seen Professor McGonagall sit like a statue before, but it was usually in class in her animagus form. It was a different thing to see her sit so still as a human. "When I came to this address six years ago, who answered the front door?" the Professor asked carefully, testing her identity.

"I did, You came at a quarter past ten and I asked if you were my new piano instructor. Now Professor—"

" _How is this possible?_ How did this happen? You would've been 19?" McGonagall took a deep, calming breath. "When the avalanche occurred did you try apparating—or perhaps a defensive charm? The Bubble head Charm—"

"I didn't have my wand."

" _You didn't have your wand?_ Why dare I ask, not?"

"Because the War is over—Harry—"

"Don't tell me Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall insisted. She looked pale, like she could be ill, "There can't be spoilers like this. I know too much already—Why," Hermione could already hear the multitudes of why that would stem from this confession, the shadows of anger, of confusion of regret "Why didn't you tell us when you woke up in the Hospital Wing? Why wait until now?"

"I thought it was a dream," She didn't have the will to say she thought she was dead, " I wake up, and there's Fred Weasley at my bedside—"

"Why would it be a dream to have Mr Weasley at your side?" the Professor interrogated, her eyebrows up "Is he not well in 1999?"

 _For one so keen on Spoilers… "_ He and George are in America," she lied quickly, "As soon as the war ended, they branched out with some American Jokeshop and are promoting products in Canada and the States. I haven't seen them since the war ended."

A crack of a smile hit McGonagall's face, "So I go from fighting a dark war to a war on the Weasley products," the smile grew, and then returning to Hermione it dimmed again. "If you didn't cast a charm, how did you come back? This far?"

"I thought it might have something to do with the Time Turner charm from my bracelet—"

"Miss Granger, all Time Turners were destroyed when you and your classmates had your escapades in the Department of Mysteries. It takes nearly a ten years to create a Time Turner it's simply not possible.," Professor McGonagall sighed, "And even if there were magical properties to his charm, you'd had gone back minutes, not years. This is too powerful. "

"Is it possible I'm in a coma and this is figuratively all in my head?"she asked, half hopeful she was on to something with her last bridge of reason.

"No Miss Granger, I don't think so," Mcgonagall answered gravely. " When young witches or wizards are under threat of death, their magic can sometimes go into a survival mode, but this seems to strong for even that. I'll have Poppy look up magical comas in her books, but we haven't seen the likes of those in a while. And never one of this magnitude."

"Can I speak to Dumbledore, I need to warn him what's coming—"

McGonagall's face went white this time. "I'll brief the Headmaster, but Hermione you mustn't tell _anyone anything._ Do you remember the conversation we had when I first gave you the Time Turner your third year?"

Her third year Professor McGonagall had summoned her to her office to get her schedule. She had sat across from her and explained, very much as she was doing now the dangers of meddling with time. She and said something to the effect that there were reasons to go back. Points that were not fixed —that were fluid. School was one of them. Pursuit of education was one of them. To correct past events or meddle in what could not be solved the first time however, the Professor had explained, was not one of them.

She nodded and then stopped, "But Professor, what if I can save—"

" _Horrible things happen to wizards who mess with time,"_ Professor McGonagall swore, she took Hermione's wrist and clasped it tight. "It is nothing short of a miracle that we don't have two Hermione Grangers at once. Although it's a pity, I could at least count on one of them to keep this one in check."

"But Professor don't you see, I've seen how the war ends, I know what to do!" she freed her wrist, "Think of the lives I can save! If you only knew who we lo—"

"Magic always comes with a price Miss Granger," Mcgonagall reasoned, her eyes still fixed on Hermione "And while you think you are finding a bargain in one year, you'll lose it all in the next." She looked at Hermione, "We'll check with the Headmaster at school. It may be in your best interests to modify your memory. A Pensive probably—" she looked over Hermione, "Have you deviated from your timeline any?"

"When I realized that it was real, I—I remembered what the war did to my family. I just wanted to enjoy a few more weeks with them. Last time around I beat Harry to the Burrow by a few days."

"And he's already been there a week," she clucked her tongue, "I'll write to Molly. It's imperative we get your timeline back on track. I'll speak with Dumbledore, he'll know what to do. In the mean time—"

she looked down to where Hermione was sitting, a firm, chilling look as though she was about to take points from Gryffindor _"Stick_ to your timeline."

There was a slight pop and Hermione regretted sharing her secret almost immediately. She had been hopeful. The dream Dumbledore had chastised her for not be willing to save lives. The real McGonagall chastised her for thinking this was a chance _to_ save lives. _Modify memories?_ Surely— no. No she wouldn't let that happen. There had to be some reason why she was sent back. And she alone would figure it out.

She stayed on the bench for a few minutes. The charm faded off, she could her her parents moving in the house. Her mum was laughing at something her dad had said. The hell with what she had said of time lines, she had gotten an extra week with her parents, she'd take that. If she had to go through it all again, she'd at least have that. The more she thought of McGonagall's words the more she was torn. Was she right? if the original her—the sixth year Hermione—had been sitting with them, would she be on McGonagall's side? Or would she agree with the present her? _She'd probably try and give me detention,_ she thought to herself. She imagined what Harry and Ron would say at the scene, two Hermione's facing off at each other. _But if she knew—of if any of them only knew—_

A familiar snowy owl was coming on the Horizon and she gave a wicked smile. She knew exactly what she would do next.

* * *

AN: Another published sans beta. This is much longer than I originally intended. Also, thank for all the people that asked Where Dumbledore was previously. I hope this helped. All feedback is welcomed and appreciated...and i promise next chapter will have more Fred...

If you are one of my "Dried Lilies" readers wondering why this is getting love and DLFO sits with a chapter waiting, I promise I haven't forsaken it, It's just on the back burner right now. There has been some stuff going on for me personally and this is what's been helping me through. That story will be back soon, Promise.

Until next time, KH


	5. Falling Forward

Falling Forward

* * *

A cool gust of evening wind raddled the window, a whistle coming between the frames. Fred looked at it with annoyance, as though it was the wind's fault that Voldemort had returned and they were at the mercy of wind spirits that could raise the dead and paralyze people with fear.

It had been a colder summer than the year before when they were at the Quidditch World Cup. While the muggle papers supposed the wet, chilly air that seemed to seep into their bones, was the fault of El Nino, he knew different. London didn't have the same issue as the Yorkshire moors of fog and dementors, but that didn't mean they were safe. It was only last week that there been the collapse of a bridge near St. Paul's Cathedral and the Dark Mark seen in the evening clouds. They had been children in the first war. Bill had said he could remember seeing it as a boy, he and George had never thought they'd see it. Not in their life time anyway. It was that day that old Ollivander decided enough was enough. The next morning when they took their walk through the alley, boarded windows had greeted him and George. A" Closed Indefinitely" sign at the wand shop's window.

The Order wasn't sure if he had left voluntarily or not. The way the shop was boarded up and the magical protection put around it made it seem like he had left it on his own accord. But Dumbledore was under the impression Ollivander would be a sought after by Voldemort for his knowledge of wand lore. Either way, his disappearance had been unsettling. There were some in the Order that had been charged with finding him, but even they seemed to belief that if the enemy _didn't_ have him, it was a fools errand.

There was less than three weeks till Hogwarts term would resume. He was grateful; he and George could barely keep up manufacturing with all the kids coming through the doors. While laughter kept the dark at bay, after hours the dangers hung over their heads, fueling their inspiration. _U-know-poo_ had been a hit they come up one night when they were listening to the radio and drinking fire whiskey. The flashing purple sign plastered to the window to him was a spit in the enemies eye. Regardless of the worried letters coming from his mum and the critiques from Muriel, he'd take defiance and death over fear and living.

The store had been closed for a few hours now. The quiet hum of the alley was drowned out even farther by the wind. They had take out from a muggle shop down the street scattered on the cupboard as their latest products sat at the work stations, intermixed with their now melted ice cream from Fortescue's they had gotten earlier in the day. George was looking through their books, seeing how the summer sales were lining up. They had talked about buying out Zonko's shop in Hogsmede and they were well on their way. Zonkos had turned out to be falling competition. They just couldn't keep up with the double punch that had been Fred and George Weasley.

Next to his desk, was a diluted cauldron of Amortentia simmering. The Teen Witch Line they had started advertising in the last weeks of Hogwarts term couldn't stay on the shelves long enough with the summer crowds. He was as familiar with brewing this potion as he was making his evening tea, each batch selling out before the replacements could be shelved.

"Sounds like Mum's kicked us out," George said looking up from today's Epistle from their Mother. She insisted on sending them daily lists, notes, silly little scribbles of incomplete thoughts. Fred thought part of this stemmed from not keeping in touch with Percy so much when he went off into the world. Not fighting enough to anchor him back home. It was as though the letters were to be an anchor for them. _We're not that git, you don't need to worry mum—_ he wanted to tell her, but with all the stress in his mother's life, he took the letters without complaint.

"You mean we didn't move out when we moved here?" Fred asked, looking away from the window and to his twin. "Good of her not to charge us rent for our old room."

"She says she's put Harry in or old room for now, but she might move Hermione in there" George skimmed, throwing a owl treat the size of Pig's head at the bird mid-flight. "I suppose if it's the Chosen One it's alright. And we're not at Hogwarts anymore, so it's not like Granger can take points from Gryffindor or assign us detention for providing future class room distractions to another generation of kids."

Fred's thoughts turned to Hermione, peaking through the boxes that lined the wall and tiptoeing to see their shelves. He could almost imagine it now. She was different. He couldn't put his finger on it. She was more confident. More determined. Had it occurred after he left Hogwarts or at the Department of Mysteries? Or had it always been there and he just never noticed it? _But then there's the Hospital Visit…_

"She was off her rocker when I dropped off their sweets, you know." he said, thinking back to the exchange in the Hospital Wing. "Kept insisting it was 1999, looked like she was about to be in a state."

"It's what staying at Hogwarts under Umbridge's regime did to her," George guessed, taking the Peruvian Powder and weighing it on a scale, "Running an illegal resistance while studying for O.W.L.s and putting up with the two of us couldn't have made for the easiest year."

But Fred had been impressed with Hermione with her new found disregard for the rules. He had always been fond of her adherence of rules, she made for the perfect test subject on how their products would play out in McGonagall's class room, but the past year he had seen a different—a daring Hermione. He had grown incredibly fond of Hermione's resistance. That fire of standing up to something, even the Ministry of Magic itself, seemed to have given her an exhilarating glow during DA meetings. It had led to so much more. She was becoming more than the know it all muggleborn who had idolized their prat of a brother Percy. She was becoming a spitfire witch who could and did stand on her own, regardless of the consequences. _Prolonged exposure to your Mother,_ but even that thought didn't fit. She was becoming this all of her own.

"She's something else, that Hermione," Fred said to himself, thinking of her arms around his neck when they parted at the station. That had been another oddity. They _never_ hugged. Not that he was opposed to it, but he couldn't think of a time she had shown blatant affection on anyone, save Harry and Ron a peck on the cheek before a Quidditch game.

The memory had danced like a veela in and out of his mind throughout the summer. Her hair had smelt of Lilacs and honey. He must have thought of her longer than he meant to. The cauldron next to his desk, a shade of brilliant summer gold now carried a faint echo of the smell, mixed in with the smell of fireworks and rain. _Must have spilt some on me earlier today. We'll have to have Vertiy look at it in the morning,_ he dismissed. He looked down at his drawing board for their Autumn Prank Line.

There was a knock at the side door that called him back to the present. "Lee!" George laughed as their friend crossed the threshold, a brown bag in one hand and a bottle in another.

Lee set the bag on the table next to their half eaten sandwiches, "So you guys ate already," Lee sighed, waving his wand and send the contents of the bag and the sandwiches to the ice box under the cupboard. He saw the cauldron and knew any chance of a night out was going to be on hold, "I'll be back with another bottle in a minute. Angie, Alicia and Katie are back from vacation and they wanted to meet up tonight before Katie went back to school."

"Here, I'll come with you. You alright Freddie?" George asked, looking around to his brother.

"I'm fine. Get something good for Katie's sake. I'll stick around in case they turn up first" he replied. George nodded, following his friend out the door, Fred staying incase the girls came first. He looked down at the potion on more time, inhaling deeply, to see if the smell was still the same. _Fireworks—_ that was the shop, their pranks, their victorious departure from Hogwarts under the rule of Umbridge. _Rain_ —Quidditch on a stormy morning. A little witch running from the stands and charming the glasses of a certain seeker. And still lingering—lilacs and honey.

He looked down at his desk to the letter tucked in the corner that had come last week. The slanted scribble, fit her just right even if the content didn't, still caught his eye.

 _Fred,_

 _I'm looking for a journal, diary, etc. that will only be visible to the reader. Do you have anything in the teen witch line close to that? I have something I need to write but don't want Harry or Ron to see it—I'll explain later. If you could use the Protego Maxima, Protego Totalum, Fianto duri, etc., it should to ensure the text is never conjured up for someone else to read._

 _I'm planning on coming in before term starts; I hope both you and George are doing well. I'll see you both soon._

 _-Hermione_

He wasn't quite sure what to make with the request. It was coincident enough that she was actually referring to a product that they had only thought about earlier in the summer and just started producing. It was twisted, but they got the idea from the Riddle Diary Ginny had been taken by. He knew Voldemort wouldn't be hidden in the pages, the idea was it would be a place to hide thoughts and have them come back to you when you wrote a certain phrase into the corner of the cover page. If someone tried to read it, it would spout lies and insults. If done repeatedly the sneak hex Hermione had conjured for the DA would surface on the intruders face. They were going to introduce it in two weeks. Hermione's book was going to be a test sample, but he hadn't told George that. No need.

But there was still something about her he couldn't put his finger on. He hadn't thought he'd see the day where Hermione Granger was seeking out a Prank rather than seeking away to get them in detention. He knew his parents had started taking to ask each other questions when they were reunited at days end; perhaps he needed to start doing the same. But what question would he ask? The idea seemed ridiculous. Who could even suggest that Hermione Granger, founder of Dumbledore's Army and best friend of Harry Potter, would be dabbling in Death Eaters and Dark Magic?

He had an old looking book in front of him, blank pages. He had chosen this style especially for her. On the outside, it looked like it could be a book from the Hogwarts Library. But, if they had done the magic right, the moment someone wrote a page, the words would sink into the paper and appear blank once completed or when other eyes looked upon it. He had no problem giving her the book, but the spells she had asked for slightly alarmed him. Why did she ask for so many defensive spells to protect the text? What did she mean by that? Did she actually think Ron had such ambition to dig that hard through her words? Harry might, but Ron? Not at all.

The door began rattling again and this time he drew his wand, nearly jinxing his brother as he appeared before him. "Freddie, we need to go," George looked panicked, shutting the door behind him and waving his wand at the lock.

"What are you talking about?" he asked, looking out the upper story window, "George, where's Lee?"

"He already left to get the girls out—" he nodded his head towards the window, "We're going to be crashing at the Burrow. There are Death Eaters on the street—"

A loud explosion raddled the apartment and both rushed to the window. A plume of smoke was coming from up the alleyway. Flashes of light and screams intermixing with the weary wind. He couldn't quite pin what shop it was, Fontescue's was up there, Flourish and Blotts, and he could see the towers of Gringotts unmoved. It was late enough the Alley wouldn't be crawling with people; injuries would be at a minimum—

Fred jumped from the window and headed to the door, "Come on George, we got to go, what if they need help, eh?"

"The don't need to up the body count," George dismissed, blocking the door "we'd be going in blind and you know it. There's enough defense charms on the store I'm not worried about a raid."

"Then what are you worried about?" Fred asked annoyed, "We're members of the damn Order, we go running _towards danger,_ not a way from it."

George was turning a shade of red that took after their mother, "I'm not loosing my twin to a mad man's wand. There are two of us, and at least a dozen of them. Those odds sound familiar?"

There had once been another set of twin brothers who rushed into a fight, not knowing it was a trap. And only their watches and wands had been returned to their grieving sister.

"Prewetts don't far well with those odds," George finished, "Come on, we'll alert the order from the Burrow. But we got to leave quick, before the anti-apparition jinxes go up."

With a slight pop the two brothers disappeared, Their cauldrons extinguishing as their masters left

* * *

((*))

* * *

Everything was different.

When she came back to the Burrow, she was greeted by Fleur who she greeted as she would an old friend. Ginny now called her a traitor, having witnessed the scene from a top the stairs. There wasn't a chance for her to correct herself, as Fleur now had decided Hermione was the godsend friend who would help her improve her English and the ways of the Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley didn't seem as annoyed as her daughter; probably grateful for the buffer Hermione was proving to be.

Knowing what was to come, she didn't mind being there for Fleur. Hermione remembered it was Fleur who had helped her into a dress gown at Shell Cottage when they arrived in an instant on the shores near Shell Cottege. She could remember how in her injured state she apologized for blood getting on the collar and the sheets and how Fleur dismissed the apology, softly musing in her ever improving English, " _Rest m'cher, we'll make them pay when you're better"_ before she set to work cleaning her wounds as she passed out.

And that was a Fleur who had dealt with her and Ginny shunning her the summer before. She couldn't do that a second time around.

Harry and Ron were _somewhat_ the same. In the week Harry had been there, the two had become tan by living on the Quidditch Posts. Ron was being somewhat more polite to Hermione. Had that happened last time around? Why hadn't she noticed? Was it because she was being so cold to Fleur she just blocked any notice of his civility? She had noticed he took it easy on her as they played Quidditch, now two on two in the same pitch the Weasleys had grown up on.

Reliving this year had proved like re-reading a book. She was picking up on things more than she had before. Especially how tired Molly looked. How she kept her eyes on the clock after six, waiting to see Mr. Weasley's hand on the clock move from mortal danger to traveling and back again. How she had a roll of parchment she'd scribble on in the afternoon and then give it to Pig to drop with the twins. Sometimes Errol would depart with a package she knew had a warm meal wrapped inside for her two younger sons. there were creases in her eyes that she had only remembered as laugh lines that now seemed to be laid down and weary. She would never have called Molly old, but she was definitely worn down since they said goodbye at Kings Cross.

Remus had been at the house when she arrived a week ago, adding more worry to Molly's load as he told the breakfast table that Ollivander was missing. There was always a member of the Order checking in. Usually Tonks, occasionally Lupin. Never together, always passing. _That's probably another thing wearing down Molly, the two of them—_

She wanted to tell them. She wanted to tell Tonks that he'd come around, just give it a near death experience at Hogwarts. _Well maybe not tell her that part…_ but she had agreed, for the moment, to listen to Professor McGonagall for now. She had stuck to her timeline as much as could be expected. She had even squeezed the looking glass left behind in the Twins room and gotten a black eye when she spoke with Harry the first morning. He was filling her in on what Dumbledore and he had discussed on his way to the Burrow. She had even done her greatest rendition of getting her O.W.L.s but it seemed an empty echo. The letters still on the kitchen table, flattened by Molly's medi-wtich books Fleur's attempt of bread rolls.

When she dreamed, she still dreamed of the past, _her_ past. She had her first nightmare of Malfoy Manor since the accident her first night in the Burrow. She lied to Ginny and told her it was just a nightmare from the Department of Mysteries. That seemed to silence her for now. She had laid in bed for a moment before hearing Ginny reply, "I was afraid I was the only one that did."

That day they had all gone to bed early, Her, Harry, Ron and Ginny being charged with de-gnoming the garden. Mr. Weasley had come home after a particularly long meeting at the Ministry. The house was still and quite when they all retired at ten. She had been asleep for an hour or so before waking up from another nightmare.

She got out of bed and put on one of her sweaters she had packed. It was warmer in Devon compared to the rest of the country but the house was still chilled. She made her way up the stairs from Ginny's room to the window seat on the second floor landing of the Burrow. Crookshanks, no longer wary around her, sat at her feet as she looked out the window. Both of them glancing at the pond in front of the yard or the gnomes jumping back over the fence. She had sat here the night before the wedding, a white ten in the distance, billowing in the night air, the faint illuminating blue lights visible thru the white canvas.

She hadn't been there for too long at all when two _pops_ in shattered the still of the night with shouts in the yard. She could see light streaming from under Mr and Mrs Weasley's room upstairs. She squinted her eyes, to see Fred and George, none looking too amused with the other, walking to the house.

Mrs Weasley frantically came running down the stairs in her dressing gown, "Fred, Geoerge," Mrs Weasley identified, looking at them and then looking at Hermione, "What the devil—"

She followed Molly down the stairs more than their steps echoing in the staircase. The others were up as well, and everyone was waking up, coming to the kitchen.

Mr. Weasley was on their heals, pushing his way forward as they reached the back door the boys were emerging from. Standing tall, he held his wand pointed towards his sons,

" _Mr. Weasley—"_ she called out, but Fleur held her shoulder, keeping her in place beside her. She had never seen Arthur Weasley pull a wand on any of his children. _This has to be a dream, this is till a dream. You'll still wake up in Switzerland. This can't be real._

"Where did you boys go when you left Hogwarts?" he bellowed, looking at the two as though they were anyone but his children, "Where?"

George clinched his teeth and stared at his father while Fred answers, "You and Lupin met us in Nottingham before we took the portkey back to London. You told us not to tell mum and snuck us mattresses from Grimmauld."

George wheeled out his wand, "Do you want us to ask you a question dad or can we just assume that all of you in this house are our family and not Death Eaters?"

It was Mrs Weasley's turn to call out. "Georgie—"

"Sorry son," Mr. Weasley lowered his wand, his posture relaxing as he did so. "Now—what the devil is going on here?"

"There was an attack in the alley," Fred said gruffly, looking at the Weasley's assembled around the room and then the clock. "It was in the South corridor, we left—"

"Because we would've been out numbered," George interrupted, looking at his brother annoyed. "Do ve know 'vho?"

Fred returned his glare, to his brother, "We left before the anti-apparition charms went up," George explained, leaning against the table, "It was up the alley a bit, passed Gringotts—probably closer to Flourish and Blotts. Lee and I were headed to the Cauldron and didn't make it past the Apothecary without someone telling us to turn around and run."

"You didn't even see what happened?" Fred asked, "We ran like cowards and you didn't even see _how_ many where there? You said there was at least a dozen! You said it would've been six on two."

"Your brothers right, you could've been out numbered," Mr Weasley agreed. He took his wand and bellowed, " _Expecto Patronum"_ and spoke to the weasel before it floated out the room. "The Order's been notified. That's the first priority. We'll get our people in there." He headed to the coat rack and grabbed his work robes. "I'll be one of them."

Mrs Weasley wheeled her head, "You have no business going out there Arthur Weasley," she insisted. "There were no Muggles no artifacts—it was one of our streets let Magical Law Enforcement sweep the scene…"

"There could be someone trying to profit from the accident," he explained, "I'll be back in an hour, Remus is on call tonight. I won't be alone." He wasn't out the door a moment before Mrs Weasley followed, her voice echoing in the night.

Fleur looked at the lot of them and sighed, "I'll make ze tea," and went to work with Mrs Weasley's red teakettle waving her wand and a set of blue flames warming the spot. Harry was looking at Ron who seemed to have shrugged off the scene and heading back up the stairs. Ginny was giving George a hug; as though he had just saved the both from would've been their certain demise. She had seen a hug like that before between Ginny and George, but it was when there _had_ been certain demise.

And he was looking at her curiously.

"Hermione," Fred started, "What did you do to your eye?"

"She vas playing vith vone of you're silly toys," Fleur explained, "You left something in zee room."

"The spy glass, wasn't it?" Fred winced, walking over and putting his hands on her temples looking at the bruise, "it doesn't hurt does it, just looks like it?"

"Yeah," she hadn't noticed how his eyes were the lighter kind of the Weasley brown. There was flecks of gold. Or perhaps it was just the lightening.

"Here, I think I have something in my room to help with that," he explained, his thumb gently brushing the corner of her cheek, "Come on, follow me."

* * *

((*))

* * *

She followed him into the bedroom, Fred rifling through the dresser drawer. Hermione took a seat in the desk that sat between the two beds watching as he did so. "George and I developed a knack for making salves with all the stuff we came up with when we were starting out," he explained, looking up from his search, "If we hadn't, mum would have put a stop to us long before we ever got the gold for the start up."

"He's right you know," Hermione called out from his search, "George."

"Hmm?" He fished out a small little jar and unscrewed the lid. He walked over and leveled himself with her eyes. "Close your eyes," he ordered, dabbing his hand in the jar, "Now, what are you agreeing with my brother about?"

"About running rather than fighting," she felt the near chill of the cream and then the warmth. She kept her eyes closed, "Fred, if something happened to you—your family—"

He might be missing the panic she was sure would be flooding her eyes, but she couldn't hide her voice cracking. His thumb stopped on her cheek again, and she could assume he stiffened. "They'd be fine," he said flatly, before he continued brushing the cream on her black eye. "Not right away, but they'd be fine."

She opened her eyes with a start and was surprised how calm his face was. He was looking down at the cream, and she could see how stiff his features had become. "How can you even say that Fred?" she argued, hitting his shoulder, " What about George? What would _he_ do?"

"I have a feeling we'd go together," Fred said evenly, still facing the floor but she could notice his face had lost some color. " And we'd be sure to take as many of them as we could before they took us."

"But what if you didn't—You shouldn't say things like that," Hermione glared, cross her arms and leaning into the back of the chair, "You two— _you_ — would leave so many people behind. they wouldn't know what to do without _you_ —"

She couldn't explain the look he was giving her, but she was sure she hadn't seen either him, or George for that matter look at her that way before. "I'll be careful then. For their sakes," he promised, his voice even now. He rubbed the last of the salve into her eyebrow, and twisted the lid back on. "Now with that take care of, I suppose we can talk about that book you wrote about?"

* * *

AN: Ah ha! First Cliffhanger of the story!

I will apologize that this is coming sans beta and rushed. I got sick last week and was unable to update on the usual time table. I'm hoping to get back on track ether this Friday or Saturday.

So there are part of this chapter I'm proud of and others that I'm a little unsure. I don't want George to seem cowardly, but I think given the situation, his actions were warranted. I know when we read and reread the series, we (or at least I know i do this) set the characters to our age and our standards. But Fred and George were all of 18 in this chapter. And if I had seen an attack on my street, I would've wanted to run to a place I was safe. So I felt it was justified. I'm sorry this chapter went long; but I'm going to try and quicken the pace in the coming chapters. We've got quite a ways to go! As always, any and all feedback welcome; feel free to shoot a PM.

Until next time,

KH


	6. Falling Further

Falling Further

* * *

"The Book?" Hermione asked, confused at Fred's words, "Oh you mean the journal—"

"Considering you're probably wanting to hide whatever your writing from most of the people in this house, I didn't think you'd want to talk about it downstairs," Fred nodded, scooting closer to her, now at the edge of his bed. "I can't say I understand what's so secretive you have me doing protective spells on a diary, but i won't ask questions."

She rolled her eyes, "Fat chance I believe that."

He smirked, tilting his head, "Well I do have one—you aren't being possessed by a Death Eater are you?"

"Hermione Granger, Death Eater," she laughed a loud to that, "I can honestly say I've never been accused of that before."

"It's not an accusation!" he said, fumbling with his words, 'What I meant—well, You're acting very un-Granger, that's all.'

She thought about these words more than she should have. It was as if the moment froze and she was allow to think what he meant in those four words.

When the war had come to an end and all the bodies had been buried, when the last funeral was held and the last hero entombed at Hogwarts Green, they had started reaching out to the students who had never finished their Hogwarts education. Professor McGonagall approached them before they headed to Australia and personally invited them to return to the school if they so desired. It wasn't a surprise that Ron and Harry didn't accept. For better or for worse, they had grown up that year on a run. Returning to the class room for the sake of the finality a N.E.W.T test would give seemed ludicrous to them. "Why do any of us need to sit through a NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts class? We defeated the Dark Arts. I have a Chocolate Frog Card that says so," Had been Ron's argument. Harry agreed. It didn't make sense to them for any of their year to return when most, if not all, were veterans of the Battle of Hogwarts.

But Hermione had accepted. She had written to Professor McGonagall as they returned from Australia. She wanted to go back. Despite the fact that she had the same experiences as the boys, despite all of the last year had been, she _had to_ go back. She had to finish her education. She was a learner. it was who she was. Professor McGonagall had owled her back asking if she would accept post as Head Girl. She had gotten a letter like that the summer before. She hadn't told anyone. she didn't see the point. She knew she was supposed to go with Harry for Horcruxes, not Hogwarts. This time she sent back a reply. Hesitantly. But it was what was expected. Her teachers had been grooming her for this for years. Now, she was to rise to the occasion.

What had taken her by surprise though was how out of place she felt when she was back at the castle.

Harry and Ron had seen her off at the train station. She remember Ron kissing her goodbye as the steam from the engine clouded them from the cameras of the Daily Prophet. She had shared a compartment with Ginny, Luna, Neville and Dean, all coming back to finish what they had started. Neville showed her his badge, he had been made Head Boy. It had the makings of a good year. On the train, it began to set in that she was going back. With her friends by her side, albeit not Harry or Ron, it didn't seem out of place at all. But once they disembarked, once the throng of students stopped at the carriages, she realized how raw everything still was.

When Hagrid had first introduced Thestrals her fifth year, she hadn't seen them. In their year, it had only been Harry, Neville and Zabini. She had been out cold after Dolonov got to her in the Department of Mysteries, she hadn't seen Sirius go through the veil. She didn't see Snape kill Dumbledore. It was only now, standing on a Platform with the other survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts that she saw the horses of death. The leathery skin stretched over the skeleton, the wings that spanned greater than Buckbeak. She had rode that to London. She had walked towards one of them, slowly reaching out to touch it, to nuzzle it, to prove to her eyes that she saw it.

And she wasn't alone.

Nearly every seventh and sixth year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff were gaping, or reaching out, for the Thestrals. A few of the horses were skidish, they weren't use to this attention. Some of the younger students looked on. One girl, who Hermione would later find out was a first year Muggleborn from Kent, followed a sixth year she had met on the train and tried nuzzling the air, thinking it was perhaps a wizard custom she had not read about and not wanting to be left out. She and Neville had to have the Prefects help get people on the carriage they were starting to get delayed with the Survivors stares. After that, she could hear the whispers from the other carriages, " _Can you see them?" "Why can you see them but i can't_?" and then the ones who knew what they were, asking in hushed tones only silence could echo, " _Who did you see die?" "Who did you lose?"_

The Haunting continued as they rode to the castle. From her carriage, she could see the first years crossing the lake, oblivious to Dumbledore's Tomb glowing in the moonlight from it's perch on the island hill. Some may have seen it thru the trees from the lake, but they wouldn't know who it was that was interred there. Not yet. As the carriages drew nearer to the castle, she could see the hilltop nearest the castle where she had spent so many of her days following the peace. They called it the Gaurd's Hill. Where a semi-circle was a dozen or so grave markers. These graves were more obvious, a bonfire beacon was in the center of the circle, light blue flames constantly guarding those who had once stood guard for the circle. She knew every person who was interred in that hill. Not all the victims of the battle had been placed there. Some families wanted their children buried near them. But Fred was on that hill. Or at least he had been.

She had made it thru the sorting all right. Slughorn was now the Deputy Headmaster. McGonagall Headmistress. She had kept Dumbledore's tradition of a few words before the feast. She couldn't help but smile at the first years as they saw their plates fill with food before them. She remembered looking toward Ginny and smiling when a first year tried stuffing a yorkshire pudding in his house only to be knocked off the bench in fright as Nearly-Headless Nick appeared on his plate. But instead of her friends laugh, Ginny clutched her wrist and pointed down the table, where in rather contemporary muggle clothes, two teenage ghosts laughed and welcomed the new additions to the school.

Hermione would learn those were the Student Guards. Those that died in the Battle of Hogwarts, but didn't leave, that chose to linger on in the walls they had died defending. She was relieved Collin and Nigel weren't among them. Her first night at school she had a fit of nightmares. She knew she was keeping Ginny up with them, so she had walked out of the tower and as far up the stairs as she could go, till she was at the last step which served as a perch to the window looking down on the lake, the hill, and the graves below and dissolved into a heap of tears.

It was in that moment she realized just how much had changed, and also how much she had changed. The Hermione Granger who used to sit in this spot, on nights when Lavender and Paravati were being too much, the Hermione Granger who used to study there, the quiet, rule abiding Hermione Granger was gone. She might as well be buried on the Hill. Thinking of the scene now, _that_ Hermione would have gone to Dumbledore when she first woke up in the past. That Hermione would have demanded it. She would have also offered McGonagall to swear an unbreakable vow to keep the course and repeat the years as they should be. That Hermione would have done that and so much more. That Hermione would have done it because was not only expected of her, but accepted rules and guidelines for her to live by.

But she wasn't that Hermione anymore. And she wondered, oh so often those first few months back at school, if there had been more rule breakers, more people that had asked questions and not gone on pretending the Prophet was right and Harry was mad, perhaps then they could've done more that first year Voldemort was back. Perhaps if they had done so, the Battle of Hogwarts would have been so very different and there wouldn't be ghosts in teenage clothing going with their still living friends to classes.

"Granger—"

It wasn't that she had sat by the way side and done nothing. She had been a fighter. She had organized others to fight. But had it been too late? What if people had come to realize earlier? What if Percy could have come around earlier?

"Granger—"

Maybe then she wouldn't feel guilty every time she looked at the hill top or saw the sun catch the lake.

" _Hermione,"_ Fred pulled her out of her thoughts, " See, you did it again!" he threw his hands up animatedly, "Here i _try_ and have a conversation to you about your change in behavior and you go ahead and drift off into what ever day dream you were just in—" His eyes suddenly grew wide and he lunged over to George's bed, looking to see if there was something under the pillow, and then, starting to go through the drawers of the desk.

"What are you looking for Fred?" she asked, adjusting back to her surroundings. _He's just another ghost,_ she wanted to tell herself. _Another ghost that will haunt you after all of this is done._

"You had this loopy look on your face, I was worried George had left a day dream quill somewhere around here. We ended up marketing them as a candy once the Quill ended up proving stronger day dreams the longer it sat—I was just—"

She feigned a smile and pat his arm, "Nah, don't worry. I wasn't day dreaming about you just them Fred."

She wondered if she was tired or if he really did just go a flush of pink in his ears. _The lighting,_ a voice of reason answered her. "Now the book—I'm not a Death Eater, or being possessed by one. I just need something i can write in, that i know no one else can see."

Fred rolled his eyes, normal again, "Merlin Granger, you're a teenage girl. You can say you're in need of a diary and the people closest to you are snoops."

"Fine, she rested her hand on the desk and cradled her head, looking at him with a smirk similar to his own, "I'm a teenage girl and the people closest to me are snoops."

"I only have one other question," his smirk gone, edged again on the bed, "Why did you write to us rather than make one yourself. You had a piece of paper jinxed for secrecy last year and if I remember it worked pretty damn well."

"I'm still under the trace," Hermione countered, "I'm not off it till the end of next month. Besides," she scratched at the now dry salve around her eye, "You mean to tell me that you and George didn't have a secret way to write down your plans without your mum seeing it?"

A devilish smile pulled at the corner of Fred's mouth, "You're good Granger," he grinned, "You're very good. No more questions. You can have your book when you come to the shop." He took the flowers out of the vase Mrs Weasley had placed and opened the window, casting the water on the gardens before. "Let's wash up that eye of yours and you'll be good as new."

Water started to swirl from the base and Fred reached into his pocket pulling out a maroon handkerchief, offering it to her, " If you rub it in circles it helps break it up more."

It took about five minutes to get all of it off, Fred having caked on more than necessary as she chastised him for giving George a hard time, "You going to apologize to George for being a prat?" she asked dabbing the handkerchief in the vase again.

"Five points from Gryffindor for language," Fred chided, winking at her as he took the handkerchief and got a glob from her eyebrow. "But to answer your question, most likely. Heaven forbid I get in a fight with my brother whose just trying to keep me alive," he said, headed to the door, "Are you staying in here or is it Harry's room?"

"Neither, I'm in with Ginny and Harry's bunking with Ron. Your room's empty," she said following him in step. He opened the door and looked back, "Well come on, best see how the critics deal with Fleurs attempt at tea."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Harry and Ron had come back stairs by the time Hermione and Fred joined them. Ron stopped his conversation with Harry and turned to his brother, "What are you two doing together?" he asked, inspecting the scene as though he was Mrs Weasley inspecting Fleur's cooking.

"Judging by Hermione's lack of a black eye, I'd go with working some magic," George winked at Hermione. If possible, darts would have flown from Ron's eyes to his brothers, head, "Can I have another cuppa Fleur, you make it just right."

"Oh you are so charmant," Fleur beamed, refilling his cup. "''Erm'ione, I'll make you a fresh batch," she called out, as she poured two more mugs from the cupboard.

George looked up, "I'm charming and she gets a fresh batch? How does that work?"

Fleur threw her a wink and Hermione laughed at George's smirk.

"Is Dad home yet?" Fred asked his brother, looking at the clock, "Obviously Voldemort is still alive, we're all in mortal peril," he continued, "Of course we're still all on the clock so we're all living. That's good eh?"

"What happens if someone dies?" Ginny asked, coming back into the room with Crookshanks in her arms. "Dose their hand disappear?"

"That's not going to happen," Hermione said quickly, "No need to ask about something that's never going to happen." But she knew the answer to that question all too well.

"Quite right," Fred said, looking up at George, and then Hermione, "Been nearly an hour, any word from Dad?"

As though on cue, the door opened. But next to Mr Weasley stood Bill. Fleur nearly dropped the mug she was filling with tea and started with relief " _Où étais-tu passe?_ "

"I got dad's patronus and met him in the Alley," he said, shaking off his boots, Mrs Weasley come in between him and Fleur to help him with his cloak, "Sit down Bill, Arthur" she turned to her husband pecking his cheek, "Who was it?"

"Florean Fortescue," Mr Weasley sighed, tossing his hat on the table as he sat in the head chair, "It looks like he put up a hell of a fight before they took him."

"Florean?" Ginny interjected, "Why would they take him? Surely they can get ice cream for themselves—"

" _Ginevera—"_

"I went to school with one of their sons, Franklin—the house was empty when Dad and I got there. Tea pot just taken off the kettle, still warm. We're thinking they've fled the country, I know his mum has family abroad," Bill explained, holding Fleur's hand on his shoulder. He glanced at his parents, "He wasn't—he didn't have anything to do with the first Order did he?"

Mr Weasley leaned against the chair, "Not that I know of. Course, neither were we," he looked at Molly, "He was two or so years ahead of us in school, I remember he would help tutor people in History of Magic. Nice bloke. Got an acceptable after studying with him before my O.W.L.s."

"Well, we knew it wasn't being a Historian that killed Florean," Fred said finishing his drink, he waved his wand and Hermione could have sworn she saw him empty part of a flask in this new cup.

 _Oh,_ Hermione wanted to interject, _that's exactly what it was. He knew—oh he knew about the diadem._ When the war was over, Mrs. Fortescue and her sons returned to England and told Shaklebolt that Florean knew about the Elder Wand, the Diadem of Ravenclaw, he knew so much more than a man who made a living off ice cream could have ever known. In academic circles, he would have been sought out after as a leading researcher in ancient magic. Ice cream be damned. He was brilliant and the enemy knew it.

"Boys, your beds are open if you decide to stay the night," Mr Weasley sighed, tapping the table and sending his cup to the sink. "If you're not here in the morning we'll see you in the alley, have to take this lot to get their school things."

"We're still doing that Arthur?" Molly asked, not even fighting her dismay, "after tonight—"

"They only have so many weeks left," Mr. Weasley sighed, "Besides, the car will be here to pick us up at 10. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a wizard in the ministry to operate a car? Let alone one who can navigate in and around London."

"We should head out and see if there was any damage to the shop," George said following his dad's example and sending the tea cup to the sink. "We'll see you in a couple hours." Fred rose to follow his twin, "Night family, " he waved. He looked at her and she would have to admit this was the first time she had gotten a direct good-bye, "Good Nigh Granger," before they disappeared in a sudden pop.

The single hand with two pictures moved from mortal peril to traveling and then slowly back to Mortal Peril. She hoped if she played her cards right that hand would stay the same, and she'd walk into the Burrow and see Fred's picture disappear from the clock as it had before.

* * *

AN: So this is the shortest chapter I have in this story thus far. I usually like averaging between 3500-4k; while I think we do need to move on, I thought we also could use some more Fred and Hermione before we did so. Gotta lay down that foundation right?

Also, I went ahead and added in quite a bit of Hermione's seventh year in this chapter. I went ahead and made her Head Girl begrudgingly, because I think McGonagall would have wanted her to be it, but in the end she would have asked someone else to do so, as Hermione had already done quite a bit in her time. Yet at the same time. She's Hermione Granger. Slughorn would have spiked Minerva's tea if she had anything but the highest honors. A lot of this chapter is pure head cannon I've gone by since Book 7 ended.

As always, please feel free to over your opinions. Thank you so much for all the positive feedbacks, follows, favs, etc,. I really appreciate your support as I try my first Fred and Hermione story. :)

Until next week, KH


	7. Falling Slowly

AN: Remember how the last chapter was too short? This will make up for it...

D: I have included some of the original text in this chapter from HBP. Done for sake of story, I don't own the words.

* * *

Falling Slowly

* * *

Their car came to a stop a short while after they had left the Burrow. Hermione had always wondered what sort of charm the Ministry had on the car to where it could travel from Devon to London in less than twenty minutes. With the four of them crammed into the back seat, even with an extendable charm, she was all to happy to hear their driver ask Mr. Weasley, "How long are you going to be?"

"A couple hours," Mr. Weasley answered, stepping out of the door and opening it for Mrs. Weasley first, and then the back one for the rest of them. "We'll be out of the Alley around six at the very latest."

From the outside, the Leaky Cauldron didn't look anymore rundown than it always had. Black paint chipping over weathered wood and a cauldron sign swinging in the wind haphazardly, as though all it would take was a good strong gust and it would come crashing down on some passerby. She had always supposed that was one of things that made people look a way. That and the boarded windows. When Charity Burbage, the Muggle Studies professor and the Muggleborns shopping escort had taken the Grangers to London to assist with her school shopping that first year, she had been rather disappointed with what she was looking at. The entire drive from Essex, Professor Burbage had told them of the magic and excitement that was Diagon Alley. When they had arrived on Charing Cross Road in the heart of central London, she was even more excited at the sight of several book stores with brightly done windows, colorful trims, complete with throngs of shoppers. But instead Professor Burbage paid the meter in front of the haphazard cauldron at a pub her parents would never step in, let alone one with their daughter.

But when they went in for the first time, it was nothing like the outside. It was as though she had been swept into a fairy tale. The pub was full of light coming from windows on the opposite wall. Three older witches sat at the table gabbing over their drinks as three sets of knitting needles busied themselves. An older wizard, probably close to her dad's age, was playing a musical instrument she hadn't seen before or since. Professor Burbage had to go in front of them, trying to make a way to the alley's gate. Tom, seeing the little family told her to stop and let them have a drink before they ventured in the alley. "Can't do some shopping without a spot of pumpkin juice can you?" he had said, winking at little Hermione who had never heard of such a drink. "Have a cup to go, look like it's their first year."

It wasn't that way now. Now, the inside matched the outside perfectly. It was an empty shell of what it used to be.

"Hello Tom," Mr Weasley called as they turned the door and filed on thru. There was no music. There was no one in the bar except for Tom who looked like he was sweeping the floors to keep himself from sleeping, "We'll have something on our way out," Mr Weasley explained, tapping the bar as he strode to the back entrance. Tom nodded and had six glasses zoom off the shelf and into hot water, as though to give him something else to do to pass the time before he could tend customers.

Hagrid had met them next, just as last time. He tapped the bricks with his pink umbrella, and the little company followed through the bricks and into the somber alley.

"Hell's empty and her devils are here," she muttered to herself, looking at the missing papers, the closed banner hammered into the board covering a broken window at Fortescues. She noticed how Mrs Weasley was walking closer to Ginny while Mr. Weasley eyed the three of them walking up around Hagrid.

After successfully dodging the merchants trying to sell amulets and good luck charms, it was decided they should split up and be more efficient in their time, for the sake of the driver. Mrs. Weasley also had hesitations about traveling after sunset, so that bumped the return trip ever closer. Hermione had forgot how no one made eye contact anymore. How they stayed in their little groups and spoke in whispers, as though a loud voice could summon a Death Eater. She decided the four of them were probably the loudest ones in the alley, like chatty mourners at a wake.

"Migh' be a bit of squeeze in there with all of us" Hagrid said looking at the small shop, "I'll stand guard outside, all right'?"

They had only gotten through the door when they realized the stillness of the alley didn't match the shop. Harry's ears seemed to perk up as Draco Malfoy argued with his mother over treating him as a child and they followed the voice around the rack.

Malfoy's face twisted as he saw the three in the mirror, "If you're wonder what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in."

The scene was playing out so much like Hermione had remembered. Narcissa was playing the role of a single parent this year in the shopping, with Lucius imprisoned in Azkaban. Malfoy was being sensitive about his left sleeve, irritable as ever. Hermione paid special notice to watching Harry's face and knew that he was forming his suspicion that would carry on for the rest of the year. He wasn't far off, _she_ knew Malfoy was working on Voldemort's orders, but she knew that Malfoy was never given the Dark Mark nor would he ever.

Following the war, Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had all been brought before a branch of the Wizengamot, known as the Coalition for Truth and Reconciliation. It became a show in the papers, Rita Skeeter hadn't gone thru as many magical quills since the first war came to an end. Death Eaters that were rounded up were given the opportunity to confess to any and all crimes they had committed under allegiance to Voldemort. While some were destined for Azkaban regardless of what they said, sentencing would be _kinder_ should they confess, the possibility of parole, visitation etc. It was only after the smoke had cleared and the bodies had been buried that the total human cost of the war was realized and that more were missing than previously assumed. Kingsley wanted help finding those bodies, and families wanted to know what had happened to those who never came home.

In the _Wizengamot vs. the Malfoy's_ , it was learned how _long_ crimes had been committed. Lucius admitted to jointing the Death Eaters a few years following graduation from Hogwarts, in 1975 after he and Narcissa had married. Back then, he was a self-called "Gentleman Death Eater" who assumed that he would take an active role in Ministry Leadership once the Dark Lord had taken hold of the country. He hadn't become a killer until the 1979 murders of Eloise MacGregor, Muggleborn Rights advocate. He admitted to playing a role in the McKinnon Murders in 1981, as well as being present in the final moments of Benjy Fenwick's murder. But he wouldn't be prosecuted for that; as he had already been tried for those charges after the end of the first war in a 1981 tribunal. What he had done since, the handing off of Tom Riddle's Diary to Ginny Weasley, the murder of Sirius Black and attempted murder of Harry in 1995 wasn't new news either, as that was what he was charged and sent to Azkaban for prior to his escape. Both Narcissa and Draco testified for their actions since Lucius imprisonment, including the unbreakable vow made between Snape for Draco's survival, as well as the plot and murder of Albus Dumbledore.

But it was what happened _after_ that had drawn the attention of the court. Lucius having to surrender his wand to Voldemort. Narcissa and Draco spending the summer in their home as prisoners. The threats of leaving Draco exposed for an attack from Greyback. The Carrows threats and torture to Draco for failing to torture a muggleborn third year whom had been hiding under a half-blood alias. Christmas holiday where Lucius and Narcissa were again threatened with Draco's death if the Dark Lord did not find them loyal. Draco being threatened with carrying out his own parent's execution should he not do as he was told. The Easter Holiday when Harry, Ron and Hermione had been brought to the Manor and Hermione's torture under Aunt Bellatrix. That had launched weeks of press in and of itself.

Once those called to court testified, there were a few hours given to those who had sat thru the tribunal to give character witnesses and personal testimony of the defendants. Their trial occurred during the start of term once she had gone back. She had gotten permission from McGonagall to attend. While both her and Harry had gone in the defense of the Malfoys. Ron hadn't come. He had said that _even if_ he did think the Malfoy's should be given a second chance, it wouldn't seem genuine. It was well known through the wizarding community the tension between the Weasleys and Malfoys, and the Weasley family had emerged from the war as a family of heroes, not liars.

Hermione testified that Draco did not reveal Harry's identity when snatchers brought them to the Manor. Harry had spoke in favor of Narcissa, who once Voldemort's killing curse had failed for a second time, had lied, keeping him alive to face him in the final battle. Harry went further, arguing that both Narcissa _and_ Lucius spent the last hours of the battle looking for Draco, not killing for Voldemort. The fact that there were numerous testimonies of the family changing allegiance during the Battle of Hogwarts had ultimately been the saving grace. All three Malfoys had returned to Whitehall that night, although Lucius was to follow up with a Ministry appointed probation officer and begin participating in muggleborn education and charitable causes.

"Have you become a stupid Mudblood this year Granger or is this some passive aggressive silent treatment?" Draco asked, sneering at her as Madam Malkin bit her lip and turned a deeper shade of red "If it is, I'm glad. Silence suits you well."

 _He must have tried insulting me while I was thinking of how I saved his sorry—_ "Put your wands down, he's not worth it," Hermione said, pulling at Ron's elbow. Had he stood in front of her defensive last time as he did now? Why couldn't she remember?

Narcissa walked over, 'Yes, wands away." She looked over at Harry especially, "Your friendship with Dumbledore has given you a false air of confidence. You should fix that. After all, the day may come when Dumbledore might not always be here to save you Mr Potter."

Harry looked around the room annoyed, "Don't see him in this store. Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"

Madam Malkin dropped her pin cushion and looked at Harry, "Really—watch your—dangerous thing to say—wands away, please."

" _Harry_ " Hermione sighed, pulling his arm back too, "Come on, lets just wait till their gone—"

"No need to wait, we're leaving" Malfoy said, "Mother, I don't want these robes anymore. Not with this sort around."

"Quite right," Narcissa glanced, looking now at Hermione. She had the same shape eyes as her sister. It was though her neck was burning again from where she cut her. "Now I know the kind of scum that shops here… we'll be better off at Twilfitt and Tatting's up the street."

Draco ripped of his robes sending a shower of silver pins to the floor as Madam Malkin looked on in silent rage. The Malfoys had disappeared and headed up the street when she finally turned to the three of them, sizing them up. "You boys need new robes, and you?" she asked Hermione as a tape measure went to work on the boys.

"Dress robes," she nodded, "something blue?" Madam Malkin nodded and flicked her wand as bolts of cloth flew from the wall and began to surround the three of them. Harry and Ron's had emerged from their dressing room wearing the same style cloth, the kind you'd need for the school while Hermione's came out of hers in a soft, navy silk, that just skimmed her ankles.

"Any occasion in mind dear?" she asked, a tape measurer tickling Hermione's arm. Last go around, Hermione had gotten a scarlet set, settling on that after Madam Malkin tried selling her wizard's robes instead. They were far too formal for the Slug Club Christmas Party and she had left them in Ginny's closet when they had gone on the run. She had to wear one of her dresses her Mum had sent her from Essex.

"A Christmas Party," Hermione told the multitasking witch, the fabric for Ron and Harry's robes already being cut and sewn on by the instruments. "Nothing fancy. It's no Yule Ball, but something nice." She wanted to say something that would make Ron jealous that he was with Lavender and not her, but given the company in the room she didn't want to supplant any idea. Madam nodded and after Hermione had selected the fabric stepped aside to roll up the sleeves for Ron and Harry.

She emerged in the loosely sewn together dress, standing on a pedestal as one of Madam's seamstresses came over to help with the fitting and customization. In full honesty, this was ridiculous. She should be getting nice black dress robes for all the funerals she would attend. That was a regret she had. She had to borrow mourning robes from Ginny who hardly had any of her own. Instead, she was wasting money that could be used for preparation of next year. The robes would be at least seven galleons. That was at least thirty-five pounds. She could make a warm stew for that much and have enough left over for other odds and ends on the road. She could even give that money to Neville or Ginny, someone who was staying at Hogwarts and use it to help people. But instead she was using it on a dress she'd maybe where twice.

"Is something the matter dear?" Malkin's assistant asked, pinning up the hem.

"Just thinking, that's all," she sighed, looking at her reflection. She'd get these, but she needed to get Bill to get her money out of Gringotts soon. She needed to start preparing now for what laid ahead. Perhaps she was on to something with having some of the gold go to those they'd leave behind.

But for the slightest moment, she was pulled from the pratical path to her present where she could have sworn she saw Ron, looking at her thru the mirrors that lined the shop. It was a different look than he'd normally would, she had only become familiar with that in _her_ recent past.

Maybe the dress wouldn't be a waste after all.

* * *

((*))

* * *

"Did you see where Malfoy went Hagrid?" Harry asked, following the party down the alleyway to number ninth-three. He hadn't yet shaken the thought of seeing Draco hesitancy towards his left arm. He knew just as well as anyone what was usually on a Death Eater's arm but she _knew,_ having sat thru that tribunal, that Draco did not have the dark mark. But she could hardly tell Harry that.

"Don't worry about them Harry," Hagrid promised, "Wouldn't do them any good to stir trouble around here now people know wha' they've done."

"Would've been nice they known that a few years ago," Ron muttered under his breath. She walked on without comment, his look at the shop still in her head like a catchy song, "I think they've always known, it's just now that the Ministry's actually locked him away that they're acting on it."

He was about to say something when the reached the bright, vivid store that made the rest of the alley look like a faded black and white picture in comparison. Purple and Orange from top to bottom, the store looked like the irreverent guest at a funeral. Hermione saw the Purple banners and "U-no-Poo!" inblazzed and smiled as she saw Mrs. Weasley's face drop, " _Wicked,"_ Ron muttered as she ran into the shop, Ginny not far behind her.

The shop was filled to the brim with people. It was as though everyone who had come to Diagon Alley today had come simply for the shop. The Skiving Snakes, she noted, where selling rather well, the crumbled box of a Nosebleed Nougat suggesting to her that there was going to be more than one student trying to leave class early this term. She had taken points in the beginning when students did this, but she couldn't keep track of them all and slowly let it all go by the way side. She was a Prefect, but she wasn't wearing her badge quite yet.

She crowd was good at churning her farther up and farther in. She lost her balance as she got to the Teen Witch area near the counter, she caught herself on a small pink box, nearly falling into the Whizbangs. Steading herself, she looked in her hand at a handsome sailor, a young girl in arm, standing atop a boat deck. Her cheeks were turning red, as she glimpsed over the description of the thirty-minute daydream. She looked at the cover again and the sailor's hair was now turning a familiar shade of red and the girls face starting to reflect her own. She put it back quickly, adding another one in front of it for good measure.

"You know," she started, turning to Harry who had made it toward the front with her, "that really is extraordinary magic!"

"For that, Hermione," a familiar voice sounded behind them, "you can have one for free."

There, standing in his vivid magenta robes beamed Fred, winking at Hermione and tossing her another box from the display case. "Good to see you two again, it's been so long, at least twelve hours," he chuckled and then looked at Hermione. "You're eyes looking better than yesterday, back to their beautiful brown selves."

She rolled her eyes, "As we just ran into Malfoy. Thank you for fixing my eye last night. He'd probably tried sending you flowers if he'd seen me that way."

"Git," Fred muttered, "Was in here not even twenty minutes ago looking at the Peruvian Powder. Then he just turned around and walked out. I was looking forward to saying we didn't serve the likes of him when he got to the register."

Harry laughed and Hermione flinched, "You wouldn't."

"His dad almost had us lose Ginny. I would and I will if I see the likes of him in here again. But enough of that," he turned to his side, "Come on, I'll give you two the VIP tour. Where's Ron?"

"He's trying to keep Ginny away from the love potions," Hermione sighed, trying to hide her amusement as both Fred and Harry looked at her wearily. "Come on, am I going to have to give myself a tour of the shop?"

She had a bounce in her step as she pushed the two of them along. She hadn't gotten to do this last time. Last time she had found the bathroom and spent a half hour or so trying to clear up her eye. Verity had let her sit in the back once a line started and she began analyzing the paste the brothers had made. But this time she got to see more of the shop than she had before.

There was a corner for the muggle gifts and jokes she had grown up with. Fake wands, decks of cards, bowlers that she could only imagine a rabbit called home. George was now shaking Harry's hand and calling out a threat to a small boy who was looking a little closely at the Edible Dark marks. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow, "Miss Granger, coming to see what the next generation of pranksters are going to be working with?"

"Field research," Hermione laughed, following the group through a curtain towards the back of the warehouse. George was explaining to Harry the Shield Line that they had developed and was being marketed to the Ministry when Hermione felt a hand pull her own to the side towards the work room.

She had half a mind to whip out her wand, trace be damned, and hex who ever was pulling her away. And then she saw who was the freckle faced owner and she relaxed. It was only Fred.

"George will finish up the tour for Harry, but I wanted to give you the book," he explained as they walked through the small hallway to the back workroom, dropping her hand as he opened the door.

After the war, in the summer that stretched on far too long, Hermione had spent the few weeks proceeding school helping Ron get George and the shop back on their feet. In full honesty, it was a miracle they had everything up as quick as they did for the post-war Back to School rush. Verity had been a lifesaver, having taken a lot of the merchandise and put it in hiding when the twins had abandoned the shop that spring.

Hermione was familiar with the back area as it was after the war. The workshop where there was always cauldrons boiling and small explosions going off. Next to George's desk was a large book where the twin kept their financial record. Kitty corner to George's desk was Freds. Standing where she was in 1996 she could see that George had left the desk identical to how it had been in the time of its former master. Papers scattered and stacked everywhere in an unboxed chaos that only Fred Weasley could make sense of. The desk drawer on the left was jammed, and as far as _she_ had known they had never been able to get it to open since Fred's death.

He walked over to his desk and opened a cupboard with his wand. "George and I have our own private projects, " he explained, nodding his head over, "It's usually just stuff that we're tweaking before we let the other see. It was George's idea for the shielding line. He's a bit more practical than me."

"Just be careful with that Instant Powder," Hermione said, in what she hoped was a joking voice, "Wouldn't want someone to use that for a bad reason."

He brushed it off, "You worry too much Granger," he said as he pulled out a stack of books. "Which is why you're turning to me for a prank. Cause you're worried the boys will find out your secrets."

"Maybe I don't want them to know who I'm dreaming about?" she said firmly, looking at the product that was still in her hands.

"Oh trust me, I bet all of Gryffindor house knows," he laughed under his breath, stopping himself after a moment. "Well, maybe not all. I'm pretty sure Ron's out of the loop."

She stared at him for a moment confused. _What was he trying to say—that she and—_

"You think Ron and I—" she couldn't finish. She wouldn't. It would alter far too much. _If the whole bloody house knew, why the ruddy hell—_ "I don't think so Fred" she said evenly, trying her hardest to keep her cheeks from turning the color of his hair. "I've got five years of friendship under my belt telling me that he isn't the romantic kind."

He looked at her for a moment and Hermione felt like she was back at Madam Malkins in her dress robes. "What are you thinking?" she asked, lining up toe and toe with him.

"I'm not," he said, shaking his head and turning to the cabinet to lock it.

"Fat chance I believe that, the mind that built this store, not thinking?" she whistled, "You're going to have to do better then that."

He looked at her this time, the previous look replaced with one of mischief. His eyebrow raised, "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"I'm not," she said through a toothy smile and she couldn't fight the laugh that tickled her throat.

"Whatever you say Hermione," he responded, setting the books in front of her, scratching the back of his neck. "So I place those charms and counter jinxes on these last night. You'll be able to write in them with any ink, As soon as you close the book, the words disappear. If you need to bring them back or see what you've written, just write a "I Solemnly Swear" in the upper right of the first page."

She smiled, "You're quite the original thinker with your phrases aren't you? Don't you think Harry would try that though?

"Nah, Harry wouldn't try that hard. Besides, it's a beta copy," he smirked, "You use this one for a term, let me know what suggestions you have and I'll give you a new one at Christmas time. You'll be able to pick out the catch phrase for that one. Does that work?"

She nodded, picking up the book that had the worn leather cover and yellowing pages, "Sounds like a deal."

Holding the book tight, the stood in front of each other. If he hadn't just suggested her and Ron getting together, she'd almost describe it as standing in comfortable silence. This wasn't uncomfortable, it wasn't forced either. She stroked the spine of the book and started, "You've done a good job here Fred," she looked up at his face, "And not just the book—this whole shop, its impressive. You've done a real good job."

"High praise coming from you Hermione," he said picking up the daydream box she had set down retrieving the book. "Come on, I'll get this bagged for you. Anything else you see in the store that you fancy?"

"I'd have to be here a week to get through it all," she answered, but then hesitated, "You don't have any time turner products do you?"

Fred started walking with her down the hallway again, "We haven't done time turners yet. Time magic is difficult, you usually don't see it in joke shops. It'd be more of a specialty store. Why?"

She looked down at her wrist that was still missing the bracelet she had once though had sent her here, "Just thinking that's all."

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((*))

* * *

When Fred and Hermione had rejoined Harry and Ron on the floor, Harry was trying to find a way to escape back to the alley to track Malfoy who had recently passed by. After giving the remaining Weasley's the slip, the trio snuck past a humming Hagrid under the invisibility cloak, not hearing their feet on the cobblestone with all the chatter coming from the floor and humming.

Last time she had followed Harry's hunches on where to turn and what to look for but this time she they go to Knockturn alley the saw Malfoy disappear into Borgin's. "What do you think they're saying?" Hermione asked. Ron dropped his packages and retrieved a set of expendable ears, "There, this should be able to answer your question.

They were watching the shop seeing where Draco was talking with Borgin. He had just threatened Borgin with whatever was on his arm, he was throwing out Greyback as a family friend. "He's showing him the Dark Mark!" Harry exclaimed squinting through his glasses as though if he did it a little bit more he'd see it. Harry and Ron were whispering to each other about what was transpiring in there she couldn't hear for herself. But she knew what was being said. He was asking about the Cabinet. She could take a gamble. Last go around she hadn't asked about the cabinet being for sale or on hold. But this time, what would change if she did?

Draco exited the building, proud of himself as ever, thinking that he had finally started connecting dots necessary for survival.

"You two stay here," Hermione said, freeing hereof from the cloak before anyone could argue against her.

She strolled into the store with the same false enthusiasm as before, "Hello, horrible morning isn't it?" she asked Borgin who looked suspicious and peeved, the last emotion most likely due to either Hermione or Malfoy, she wasn't quite sure. She hummed to herself, a catchy little muggle tune her Mum would play in the office for new patients. She looked at the necklace that would harm Katie. "Is this necklace for sale?" she asked, confidence brimming.

"If you have one and a half galleons," Borgin said coolly, still trying to size up this latest customer. "Ah, bit low. Back to school took a few galleons this year" She turned to the case closer to the till, "And how about this skull?"

"Sixteen galleons," Borgin reeled, "So it is on sale," Hermione grinned. "I know this is silly, but I have a friend that was in quite recently. I missed his Birthday this summer and I wanted to get him something to make up for it. Perhaps, something he's had his eye on for a while?" She set her hand against the cabinet, "He has been saying he wanted a closet to go under his stairs—"

"Out" Borgin ordered, his voice sharp, "Get out!"

Hermione gave a nod and headed out the door looking down the street where Draco had disappeared.

They ran into each other once their last year of school. Draco's mother had hoped he'd return to sit for his finals, but returned shorty after the trial had concluded. He'd sit for the N.E. with the rest of the class, but take correspondence courses until then.

She had been crossing the courtyard outside, rubble still being reconstructed into castle when she saw him stopped, looking at one particular pile. Someone had put a silver box on the pile, a fresh, Slytherin tie rolled up and sitting on the velvet. She looked at it perplexed and that's when she heard Draco speak to her. They had never been on talking terms. Not unless she had Harry and Ron behind her, or her own fist had an itching for old habits.

"A Slytherin died there, last May" he said evenly. "Oliver Basswood. Sixth year. He snuck back to the castle with Anna Denton after Filtch had escorted the Slytherins out. Anna was from Hufflepuff," he looked at her, "We used to give him a hard time, say it was a crush but—whatever it was, it's over now."

"What happened?" she asked, looking at the rubble and its lone memorial one last time. "He was dueling in the courtyard. His parents weren't dark wizards, none of the Death Eaters could care or tell if one of them was a Death Eater or a Brave New World—a whatever you are. But there was a blast. He must have seen the incantation before it happened. Because he got hit by the rubble. Not her. He pushed her out of the way."

The two stood their a little longer and then worn and heavy face of Draco Malfoy, so different than the one she had seen stride as his father before him down Knockturn alley.

But his voice lingered and she'd admit haunt her. Especially as gently muttered, " I guess every house has our own Fred Weasleys."

* * *

AN: Thus ends Chapter 7. Again, when I wrote this, I _did_ include a bit of the original text in regards to conversation. A lot of its condensed, but its there. I felt it was kind of necessary for this to be a steady story. Also, I was looking through CH 6 and realized my doc program missed _a lot_ of little errors. I am sorry about that. I've gone through this one with a fine tooth comb so we should hopefully be alright :)

Thank you for all the support. You guys amaze me with each chapter. Next week should find us on the Hogwarts Express and in Dumbledore's office, and someone else along the way...Until next week, ~KH


	8. Falling Home

Author's (long) Note:

* * *

Point 1: because of tomorrow's anniversary, (9/11) I'm updating today. I try not to spend too much time online on that date for personal reasons. Thus the Thursday update.

Point 2:Someone had asked in the previous chapter the significance of Malfoy's words " I guess we all have our own Fred Weasleys" in reference to the Slytherin who was killed in the battle. Before we start Chapter 8 I wanted to expound on that…because I'm the Author, and that's what we do.

In the Battle of Hogwarts, there was a heavy student death toll that we know of. We know of mainly Gryffindor deaths from the cannon, Nigel, Colin Creevy, Lavender and Fred. Personally, I think of those four, Fred _would have been_ the most well know. The most remembered by fellow students for all he had done while he was at Hogwarts. Fred Weasley who used to sell skivving snacks for a sickle when Hermione Granger wasn't looking. Fred Weasley who was half of the best Beater duo the school had seen in recent memory. Fred Weasley the prankster. Fred Weasley the student combatant against Umbridge. Fred Weasley _who even Peeves_ respected in the fight against Umbridge. Fred Weasley, who was part of the most well known rebel family that had stood by Harry Potter since his mum helped Harry get on the Platform. I think Fred would have become the Patron Saint of Gryffindor after the battle had ended and the bodies were buried. He would have been the grave on Guard's Hill that always had a flower or a box of skivving snacks sitting atop the tomb.

But _it is important to remember he was not alone._ Malfoy's _"I guess we all have our own Fred Weasleys_ " is student's way of saying it wasn't _just_ Gryffindors that chose to fight and die at the Battle of Hogwarts. In this fan fiction, I reference several Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws that were killed. Oliver Basswood, sixth year Slytherin, and his make shift memorial represents the fact that all houses had someone who was killed in the battle, and that the year following the Battle of Hogwarts emotions were so raw because it was still _so_ fresh. Anna Denton went thru her seventh year without her best friend and had a physical reminder at that school that he had died saving her. These students may not have been as well known, but that they were still a youth who had been cut down in a flash of green light or a shower of stones. And the way I wrote it, you could almost argue that the Slytherin died a more Gryffindor death than Fred, but that's not important The point _in_ the flashback is that all the houses had their heroes, students they remember. The only difference was they were less known or less remembered by other houses because, unlike Fred Weasley who had been the voice on the other end of Potterwatch, they hadn't been as well known in life as they became in death.

So long Author's note. But they you go. Now you know. . .

* * *

Falling Home

* * *

The more and more time Hermione spent in the past, the more she compared her circumstance to that of being stuck in a rerun of one of her mum's television show. It was as though she had been cursed to relive Season Six of her life at Hogwarts. It wasn't that Season Six was _bad_ per se, but it was among her least favorite seasons. It was slightly better than Season Five as she would not be battling Delores Umbridge. But she was certainly headed back into what she felt was the most teenage of all her Hogwarts years.

The first person she saw when she came thru the barrier was Lavender Brown, arm in arm with Parvati laughing as they pushed their way to the train.

This was the season that she'd watch the boy she was falling in love with, fall in love with another girl. That girl in particular. The not over bright, but not unfortunate looking witch who was laughing at something her friend was whispering. That girl who nearly pushed a kid off the platform because she wasn't paying attention pushing their trolley.

 _This is a rerun, you know what happens—_

Yes, she knew what happened. She would watch a year of Lavender and Ronald trying to see who could last longer in a snogging session. This was the year that she would send birds on him and let Crookshanks shred one of Lavender's sweaters. This was the year she developed a love for Hogwarts and all the hidden sanctuaries she could run to when the two would find a way to chase her out of her beloved Gryffindor Tower.

But in the end it all fell the way it should.

This was the year he said he loved her when she fixed one of essays after his grammar quill failed. This was the year he called for her when he was poisoned and unconscious. Lavender didn't forget that. Or forgive it. The storybooks would say that Hermione and Ron would come together as he proposed they save the House Elves at the top of a staircase. The stories passed down in the family wouldn't include that it was at this exact moment Lavender was killed by Greyback in the Great Hall, but Hermione remembered. She had been the one to help Paravati clean her face before her parents came to claim the body.

The thought wasn't as comforting as she had hoped. She looked again at her dorm mate, her golden locks swept into a ponytail that seemed to bounce as she walked with Parvati. She was just a ghost who had yet to die. Looking around Hermione could see a few more ghosts walking with the living, unaware as their futures as they headed back to one of their last year at Hogwarts.

Amanda McCullough, a little fourth year from Ravenclaw who had snuck back with her cousin—she'd meet her end in the alcove on the third floor.

McKenna North walked by holding hands with Winston Oswlad, both Hufflepuff,—they and three others would be found trapped under the rubble on the seventh floor landing. They never had a chance. McKenna and Winston had chosen to stay at Hogwarts as ghosts. They were part of that Student Guard—the victims that lingered, now forever tied to the school—who had surprised her that first year back at the feast.

Oliver Basswood was helping Anna Denton with her trunk onto the train. She could see one of his fellow Slytherins pointing and making a remark to a classmate and rolled his eyes. Anna would live, only because Oliver had chosen to die instead of her under that rubble.

Another face—Nigel—he was in his third year now, and was hitting his growth sprit. He was lost in a hug from a woman Hermione assumed was his mother. The woman's face was hidden by his shoulder but Nigel's eyes kept darting to his friends coming in the distance. He'd die right before the armistice was called.

Colin and Dennis Creevey were smiling for their parents in one last picture before the year start, She never realized how much both brothers looked like their mother. Her sandy curls tucked in a hat as she smoothed her sons hair. Collin met Hermione's eyes and beaming gave a familiar wave.

Hermione's mother had once taken her to see _Les Miserables_ in London the summer of her third year. She wondered how Marius would have felt if, at the end of Empty Chairs and Empty Tables, all the ghosts he sang about walked through the door and continued at those chairs and tables as they had before. She'd say "haunted" was the least of the emotions she was feeling. She wanted to warn them. She wanted to save them. All of them. She wanted to tell them to get off the train, and to go to Australia. To Argentina. To anywhere but Hogwarts. She wanted to tell their loved ones to make sure they never returned. To take them back through the barrier and forget about a place named Hogwarts. Tell them to transfer their child to Beauxbatons. To do an exchange in the Americas. To go into hiding because their existence demanded so. Anywhere but Hogwarts.

But she couldn't safe them. Not unless she risked everything, and McGonagall's words echoed, _magic comes with a price—_

And then in the distance she could hear the most misplaced ghost of all, shouting last minute sales in his magenta work robes, carrying a tray of assorted skiving snacks, with a smile plaster onto his face.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking over his shoulder to see what Weasley he was saying farewell too. Or maybe Katie. It was her last year after all, but she couldn't see anyone.

"We figured we could make some last minute sales, Skiving snacks are flying like hot cakes," he winked as he tapped the side of his tray and a lid closed over the contents, Fred dropping it to his side as it now appeared like a side cross bag.

"You just wanted to make sure I had mayhem to deal with this year," she replied crossing her arms, "I'm not as young as I used to be." He didn't know how true that was. She was a nineteen year old headed to redo a flawless sixth year. She couldn't imagine being the slightest bit annoyed by skiving snacks after the hell she'd been thru the last two years, but she was going to have to try.

"Rubbish, there isn't anything Hermione Granger can't finish if she sets her mind to it," he answered, "Anyway, I really wanted to come see you off. George sends his regards. At least he will when he finds out this where I went off too. It was just supposed to be Verity and Lee but I wanted to see you back to Hogwarts. They can manage sales for now, "

She kept on walking towards the group of Weasleys a few yards ahead, but turned around too look at him, still standing where he had met her. "Why?"

"Because I can," he sighed exasperated, "And because I wanted to give you this" he extended his arm, a small orange box with purple strings emerging from his pocket, "you know, Good luck for a new term and all."

Hermione looked at him suspiciously, taking the box. "Thank you," she said, before heading to the train again.

"How is that book working?" He asked, sprinting behind her, "Anyone hexed yet?"

Hermione had done a few tests and she had found it useful yet. She was surprised how little threat there was to people reading it but it was all as a precaution. _No one should know as much about the future as you,_ she reasoned. No need for that mayhem to continue on. She gave him a smile and slowed her pace for him to catch up, "I think it's going to work out all right. Did you put a form of the Pensar charm? I start writing and the memories become clearer when I read them again."

"I wondered if you would catch that," he smiled, brushing the back of his neck, "I wanted to see if it would work. It's a beta after all."

It was happening again. They were falling into that clear and comfortable conversation. Is this what it would have been like, had she become friends with Fred before? Was it easy to find that comfort when you weren't yelling at him for testing products on first years or trying to steal toilet seats? She had been hoping that the coma she must have fallen into in the ski accident would have ended before she had to go back to Hogwarts. He wouldn't be there. And while she knew quite well how the entire year was going to pan out, for some reason, she wished he could come along. So she could have one more day. One more conversation with Fred. Before the wall would come down.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts of warm summer days and the twins visits to the Burrow.

She averted her eyes but smiled anyway. "Nothing. How about you?"

He returned the smirk, "Nothing at all."

They were only a few yards from his family. She could see Molly straitening Ron's collar and tucking a sandwich in Harry's bag. Ginny must have already walked off to join Dean. He must have caught where her eyes were wandering. To his family. To _his brother._ To the train back to Hogwarts.

"You let me know how the Journal works," He said as they stopped a far off, "And if Ron tries to read it I'll render him useless."

She looked and the gift in her hand, "Let me open this before you go wandering off," she tried, not quiet wanting to let him go yet. She said pulling at the strings. "It's nothing special. It's really just a bag to hide things in. I figured if you were so secretive about whatever your writing in there, you'd want a safe place to but it. I put an extendable charm so if there's anything else you need hiding, it'll fit. Had a Great Aunt Mary that was particularly good at extendable bags."

 _He's giving you a bag a good year before you make your own,_ she smiled to herself. She took her arms and wrapped them around his neck, hugging him again on Kings Cross platform. "Thank you Fred," she said softly in his ear. She could feel his arms around her and she supposed this was more familiar to him than the first time. She was caught off guard as his hand smoothed out her hair while they pulled away.

"Where has Hermione gone?" Mrs. Weasley called out and she whipped her head to see a rather bewildered Ron and Harry looking at her as though she had failed to answer a question right. He squeezed her hand and let go. "Keep in touch," he said, as he joined her in stride to his family.

"Fred, what are you doing here?" Mrs Weasley asked, kissing her son's cheek as he joined the party. The Aurors had already put the trunks on the train. All that was left was to get on it.

"Business called," Fred said to his mother, tapping the sidebar with the golden _WWW_ interlocked between them all. He tossed a wink her way. "Besides, figured I could treat you and dad to lunch after this lot gets on the train which—" a conductor's whistle pierced the air, " You best ought to."

Ginny and Dean had already disappeared. Harry first, then Ron and finally Hermione boarded the train as it started to pull out, the door closing behind her. She turned and looked out the window, watching him walk with his parents the length of the train.

She usually didn't look at the parents on the platform. Her parents rarely dropped her off. She didn't need to search the mob for their faces because she knew they weren't there. She never had to search for the people she _would_ look for because they all had that mop of red hair that pulled them out for her. But she looked back this time. She looked and saw the same stressed faces that had lined Diagon Alley. More than one mother, leaning on their husband's arm or crushing his hand as though they might not live to see their childs return, not fathoming that maybe it would be their child who was doomed to die in Hogwarts walls.

She saw those faces, but she searched to find Fred's. He had walked almost to the end of the platform, following her window, trying to keep up without drawing too much attention. Ron and Harry had done this. Ron had held her hand, kissing it, before the train picked up speed and she disappeared along the bend. He had smiled then, turned and walked off with Harry. She had seen them both turn and walk away.

But Fred was still following. He gave a smile and a wave and she knew he could still see her. When the train picked up speed, she saw him stop at the end of the platform. There, standing in his magenta roes and side bag, she could have sworn even it had a hint of sadness as the train pulled out of the station.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Her conversation with Fred had already set her year off on the wrong foot.

Last time, she and Ron had disappeared as soon as they got on the platform to meet at the Prefect's Car and get ready for the meeting with the Heads for that year, Ross Gibberd and Cecilia Ovkin. They had been the first in the compartment, beating the heads and had sat talking. About Harry. About the school year. About Quidditch. He had complemented her on something—her hair, she remembered. He said it had gotten a shade lighter from the sun and quidditch—that it looked like sunshine. It was silly, but she knew it had been sincere.

Now, they had emerged from the meeting—to which they had arrived late and had to sit in the back next to Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil. They had the same assignment as last time, so their tardiness hadn't changed from what it had been before, monitoring the middle compartments. But something _had_ changed. Primarily, Ronald's mood.

Before they had exchanged pleasant conversation. This time, she was struggling to get any words out of him. He was never a stickler of being on time before, she couldn't think what that would have caused him to be so offended by their tardiness.

"Saw you and Fred on the platform," he finally said, bitter evident in his tone. "What's going on with you two?"

 _Bullocks._

"What do you mean?" she asked, stopping in front of a closed compartment of third year girls, "I ran into him on the platform before he found you lot. I was just talking to him."

"Just ta—" he stopped, "What do you guys even talk about? You're not friends with each other. You don't even like him—"

"Ronald Weasley," she started, her temper rolling "Of course I like him. Its impossible not to like Fred. Of course we're friends—he's, he's Fred."

If Ron knew the incantation for birds, she'd probably have a few darting themselves at her now. " _We're_ friends and we never hug."

"We do too—we have anyway," she looked at him, her temper slowing down. "It was a hug, a goodbye. With You-Know-Who and his murderous tendencies might make me a hugger."

 _He likes you right now,_ she thought to herself and she felt a suddon prang of guilt in her chest. This wasn't the war Ron, who had swept her off the floor at Malfoy Manor and asked her if they should save the House Elves during the heat of battle. This wasn't the Ron who in the months of peace that came after followed her to Australia and reunite her with her parents, who would kiss her and still turn pink in the ears. This wasn't the Ron who she had fallen into a normal, predicable relationship with. This was the insecure Ron. The one who wasn't quite sure what to do once he put a name on the emotion he felt for her.

She leaned against the wall with him, her shoulder hitting his upper arm. "Fred's been helping me with a book I'm going to use to study this term. That's why we've been so friendly," she explained, hoping he wouldn't question the lie. "There's stuff in the shop that are for more than laughs. Besides, I'm not going to see him till Christmas if even then—so yes I hugged him. If it was you on that platform I'd do the same thing."

And she had. But that was another life ago.

He still didn't seem sold on her response, but his eyes didn't glare at her near as often. "So what are you going to do, once we get back?" she asked still leaning against the wall and him, hoping she could veer of the topic of his brother.

" Probably train up a bit for Quidditch, make sure I can make the team," he answered, slouching more against the wall himself, "What about you?"

She laughed at this, "Same as every year. Study" even he chuckled. She had missed Ron's laugh. Especially when they were on the run, but even so now. "I think I might be able to get a jump start on my NEWTs—"

"Oh Hermione, live a little," he laughed again, although this one almost sounded like a groan. "We don't take those till next year, don't worry about them. Go to a Quidditch game or something else, it doesn't have to be all about school."

"Well, you never know if we'll be here next year—" she said carefully, as though she wanted to foreshadow but didn't want to make it obvious. He stood straighter and looked at her surprised, "What do you mean? Of course we'll be here. I'm not planning on opening a Joke Shop and mum would tan my hide and kill the twins if I didn't finish out."

She was struggling on how to find the right words, "Say You-Know-Who takes over the Ministry. Hogwarts isn't going to be taking in muggleborn first years, or seventh years for that matter. And if the muggleborn is in close alliance to Harry Potter, it's not going to get me any points."

"Hermione Granger seriously not sit for her NEWT exams? Are you mental?" he shook his head, "If it came to that we'd find a way around it. We'll go to London and steal some red hair clippings. Uncle Billius sewed some wild oats before he died, you can be Cousin Hermia for what anyone knows."

For all his short comings, Hermione Granger couldn't deny that Ron had his mother's heart. And that was one of the reasons why she hoped in the darkest corner of her heart that maybe they'd be able to work things out after the war. That their spark would come back. This was the Ron she fell in love with. The insecure one who was thinking of ways to save a friend from events he didn't know would actually be realized. The Ron would who was human enough to leave, but better for coming back.

"It'll be slightly obvious when Hermione Granger disappears and Hermia Weasley hits the scene, don't you think?" she asked cocking her head to the side.

"We'll have Fred and George help too. They're pretty good at forging things, maybe not Hermia—we could call you Rose. Rosie Weasley," he said assured, "And even if they _tried_ to hide you or torture you or whatever, do you seriously think Harry and I would stand for that?"

"We'll face that bridge when it comes," she saw Anthony and Padme come through the door to relieve them, "Come on, lets go find Harry," she nudged. In full honesty, it took restraint not to grab his hand as she would have done out of habit of before, but she'd only imagine how soon Parvati and Lavender would find out and for better or for worse, that had to pan out…

"It's going to be bad Hermione, but we'll stick through it together," he said, his hand slightly brushing against her's as though he wanted to connect the dots now. And for the slightest moment, she wanted to believe he would.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Ron looked out the window when the train came to a stop a few hours later. "We're here already?"

Hermione looked up from the book, where she had started the time line of what was supposed to happen this year. She leaned towards the window and saw the dancing lights of Hogsmeade village. "Looks like we are. Best get into to our robes," she said as she tucked the book in her knapsack and pulled out the black robes she had set aside earlier.

"But what about Harry?" Ron said, fixing his tie, "Should we go outside and see if we can find him there?"

She knew they wouldn't find him. That was the first thing she had written in her book. Harry would be in Malfoy's compartment, eavesdropping, waiting for a confession amongst the Slytherins of his Death Eater activities. They wouldn't be reunited until half way through the feast.

But Ron didn't know that. And she wasn't supposed to know either.

"Yeah, Lets see if we can find a carriage, Harry probably got off before the train slowed down, you know he's only going to get more people following after him now that the Prophet supports his story again," she chattered on, as they left the compartment and headed out to the Platform.

A sea of students had drained on to the platform. She could see Hagrid in the distance with his lantern held high, calling for the first years. Others were clamoring down the path that led to the carriages, she could see the drawn shadows in the distance of the thestrals. She was glad she had seen them before, or Ron would have seen her tense up and wanted to know what was wrong.

She thought she may have betrayed herself when she felt a hand on her shoulder and thought it was Ron. But when she turned she was greeted by a mousy haired Tonks with a smile pulling at the corners of her face.

"Wotcher Hermione," she said with a wink, "And you too Ron."

"Tonks, what are you doing here?" she asked. She felt a thick piece of parchment in her hand. "What—"

" I have to make sure everyone disembarks the train, or I'd love to stick around," she said to both of them, she leaned into Hermione's ear giving her an uncharacteristic hug. She hadn't remembered all these hugs the firs time around. But then she heard the Auror whisper, " _There's a fireplace in the stationhouse, go now."_

It didn't make any sense. None of it did. "What is that?" Ron asked at the parchment. He might have said a little bit more but she didn't hear him. She walked back to the train where in the golden light she could make out the emerald script, ever so slanted. _Hermione Granger, Hogsmeade Station._

The back had a wax seal that she had seen the summer she had stayed at Head Quarters. A Phoenix in red wax. It was the Order's symbol. It was Dumbledore's symbol.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I would greatly enjoy a conversation with you and your present circumstances prior to the start of term. If you could meet me in my office prior to the Start of Term Feast, I feel we can make arrangements to your current situation. The station house has a fireplace Miss Tonks referenced has been connected to my office to provide immediate access._

 _Best regards,_

 _A. Dumbledore  
_

* * *

AN: I think that's the most fluff I've put in this story. From the limited Fred/Hermione I've read, there tends to be a good amount of Ron bashing and I really hope it doesn't come to that in this. I feel like Hermione in this and later chapters is going to find herself not only contrasting the brothers, but also contrasting the Ron of her sixth year with the Ron that emerges from the Battle of Hogwarts. I don't intend to go into severe bashing. Ron's one of my favorites, and I hope I can do him justice...minus the fact I'm shipping his girl with his brother.

I think that's that. Thank you so much for all the love this story has gotten, I greatly appreciate all of you all, as well as dear Jen for her input and helping me keep up with this thus far. Next week we'll see Hermione and Dumbledore see what the options are, Fred will be at the shop thinking of what Hermione could have meant by Time Turner products, and Hermione's going to struggle when Harry comes out of NEWT potions with an haunting second hand book. Stay tuned till then,-KH.


	9. Falling Grace

D: I ended up having to lead shift the last two nights and getting out later than I expected. That said, please excuse the late update. Cheers!-KH

* * *

Falling Grace

* * *

Hermione had never been called to the Headmaster's Office before.

Well, that was a lie. In Year Three she had been called to Headmistress Noble's office on account of being mistaken for Claudia Rothschild. She was the other girl her year who had bushy brown hair; who had pushed Timothy Lewis into the girls lavatory that morning. It didn't take the Headmistress long to look at Hermione in her nervous laugh and shaking hands to realize they had the wrong girl and send Hermione back for her afternoon courses.

But there was no mistake in this. She had the letter in her hand. The letter addressed to her standing on the Hogsmeade Platform. The thick parchment with Dumbledore's personal seal. Summoning _her._ To his office. Not Claudia Rothschild. Hermione Granger.

The letter felt heavy like a court sentence. And had the curiosity of one to Ron. "What is that?" he asked, trying to peer over her shoulder and read it in the light streaming from the train's windows. "Hermione—"

"It's nothing," she lied, tucking it into the corner of her pocket. "Professor Babbling wanted to talk to me immediately about my Ancient Runes O.W.L, apparently she thinks there was a discrepancy in the examination and wants an avadavat to be sent to the Ministry in the morning post."

He didn't seem at all convinced, but Tonks put an arm around his shoulder and started guiding him to the carriages off in the distance. "She'll be at the feast in no time Ron, let's get you in that carriage with Neville shall we?" she said as Ron headed a loft while Hermione disappeared towards the station house.

Hogsmeade's Station House was one of the oddities about the village that she and never noticed or appreciated until it had been tainted in the war. It was two stories and spacious. Made of stone, it resembled a station you might see in a lonely hamlet you hear about but can never find on a map. Though not as large as a muggle train station maybe, it was definitely larger than should be warranted for a lonely village. She had passed through it time and time again at the start of term and for holidays, but typically, she didn't think it served any practical use expect for those few days a year when students came, or left, the school. There was no need for a community that was purely magical to rely on such rudimentary form of _muggle_ transportation. That's what floo powder and port keys were for.

But the war had given the stationhouse a darker image. Flitch had escorted the Slytherins and underages to the station house where many had crammed in the windows to see the flares and explosions centered around the castle. The Station House was on the edge of the village, and had a somewhat decent view of the bombarded castle. McGonagall had summoned for the train as soon as it was clear there was to be a battle. It would take her students to safety, but wouldn't be there till morning. So as students watched Hell engulf their school, many watched and others made fortifications of their new stone barracks.

When the Battle of Hogwarts had concluded, the Heads of Houses determined that exams would not be held. There was still a month of school to finish, but the state of the castle was not one conclusive for learning. Not when every student seemed to know someone lying dead in the Great Hall. The students had cots brought to the Station House, and after the House Elves had packed up all the Students Trunks, the train, long since arrived, took on her passengers leaving the station house empty.

Hermione had helped organize the surviving Prefects load the train. She stayed behind, returning to the Station House and seeing the empty rooms mirror the Room of Requirement. It was part fortified as though they thought they'd be the next target after Hogwarts had fallen. Someone had started blocking the windows with shield charms and bits of wood. She recognized some of the Ancient Runes for "protection from harm " freshly carved into the wall. She had heard more than one story of older students who had sent the first and second years home in the fireplace.

Then there were the items that had been left behind. Someone had taken the House Banners and draped them in the corners of the Great Room in the days before they left for home. It was only when she left the Station House the last time she had noticed someone had emblazed the names of the Dead on their Houses Standard.

That was another thing, she tried not to think about as she entered the not yet pockmarked building. Five families had requested to have their children's bodies sent back to them rather than lie on the hill at Hogwarts. This had been the building where their coffins had laid. Amanda McCullough, Uriah Hudson and Persephone Edwards draped under three Hufflepuff flags while Wendy Dahl's Ravenclaw and Oliver Basswood's Slytherin caskets rested at their sides. They had sat here with an honor guard the night before the Hogwarts Express returned a second time, now draped in black on her sides, to pick up the last of the students.

"Fireplace is down the Hall and on your right Miss Granger," the conductor with a jolly mustache smiled, calling her out of her memories "First door on your right if you don't mind."

Hermione gave a weak smile and entered the room. The last time she had been here, Madam Rosemerta's broken pot of Floo Powder rested on the floor, someone having gone and nicked it in the heat of battle to get students out. The Ground had been scorched beyond repair with the consecutive green flames marking another student's plight. There had been a layer of soot then. Now the room was pristine. Not yet ravished by that which was about to claim them all.

She had only traveled by floo a few times in her life. She didn't care for it at all. She took a scoop of powder in her hand and ducked her head under the mantle. The first time she had done this, Fred, George, Ron and Mr. Weasley had come to pick her up for the Quidditch World Cup. "Clearly," Fred had warned her then, "Speak Clearly. Ask for the Burrow."

" _Headmaster's Office!"_ she bellowed, dropping the powder and disappearing in the cloud of green, coughing in ash and stumbling to the floor as she landed in a familiar place.

It wasn't that the office was familiar, but more so the elderly wizard standing in front of it. He extended his good hand, the one that wasn't wrapped tight. He was wearing the purple robes he favored for the start of term. His beard had been combed and gathered together in the middle and his half moon spectacles seemed to shine, but that could have been his blue eyes.

"Miss Granger, " he said with a pleasant air, "please, have a seat."

* * *

((*))

* * *

"I understand you've been traveling," Professor Dumbledore said lightly from behind his desk. If it was under any normal circumstance, it would be as though he was asking her about her Summer Holidays and if they had gone abroad. She wasn't sure if he was being humorous or if Professor McGonagall had not told him just _how far_ she had traveled, "I hope you are enjoying yourself?"

She had never before had a one-on-one with the Headmaster. It had always been herself with either Harry, Ron or both standing by her side; and in full honesty, they met with McGonagall more then they had ever met with Dumbledore.

But there he was in the office she had stood in with the inquisitor's Squad not too long ago. More recently, she had been in the office as Professor McGonagall occupied it. What was Missing was the Portrait of Dumbledore behind the desk and the tartan tin that held the biscuits McGonagall was so partial too. They would meet every now and again, sometimes with Neville, sometimes just them for Biscuits and tea, discussing what was going on beyond Hogwarts and what was still needed in recreating their world.

"I suppose you could say that," Hermione answered dubiously, her thoughts pushed back to the present. "Headmaster, what exactly do you—"

He cut her off. "It must be an excellent world if you don't have to take your wand on vacation Miss Granger," he winked this time. She was certain of it. "And a world that you and your friends very much deserve to see."

He motioned towards the Pensive sitting on the shelf near them, the soft blue from the basin visible from where she sat. "If you were to look in there, you would find Professor McGonagall's memories of meeting with you this past summer, in addition to my own of the meeting that followed," his eyes moved to the distance, which seems more years than meters. "You can be assured that I know as much as you both on what has happened for the past few months."

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you before term ended," Hermione explained, nervously gripping the side of her chair, trying to dig in with her nails into the wood. "I honestly thought that it was all a dream—I was waiting for the nightmare to end and I'd wake up back in Switzerland."

"I fear," Dumbledore said, looking back at her, with a sad smile, "Your nightmare is still to come."

She had first supposed, after Dumbledore lectured her on traveling in time and failing to report said travels to a Professor, he might give her some wisdom, some hope. Something to hold on to in the coming weeks as they try and find a way to make things right. She was looking forward to the Dumbledore she had chosen to remember. The kind, grandfather of the school who could always seem to make things right. Not the Dumbledore who once wrote of the Greater Good and Grindelwald and sent three teenagers on a quest to destroy horcruxes without the slightest hint _how_ to do that.

"Sir?"

"Since Professor McGonagall came to tell me of your travels in time Miss Granger, I have spent some of my evenings going through books on the matter. I was able to get into the surviving area's of the Department of Mysteries and dig deeper but I have been unable to find reasons to _why_ you have appeared at this time," he appeared to age as he said, "Nor have I discovered any _solution_ to return you back to your correct year safely and unaffected. There was an accident in the 1890s that led to the witches death, not her survival."

She hadn't thought much of that. Getting to return to 1999. She had thought she where _was_ she in that year, and if that's what was keeping her in the past. Surely she was in a hospital. What would happen if she _had_ to return to then. To that time. Was this fall through time the only thing keeping Hermione Granger alive right now? Or was she even there at all?

She may not have thought of getting to return to 1999, but she had spent some time thinking about taking the long way back. By living each day over again. _Each Day—_

"Sir what am I supposed to do now?" she asked evenly, speaking before he could cut her off. "If there's no way for me to return, do I just continue on as though nothing has happened?"

He smiled, that characteristic Dumbledore smile. "I understand Professor McGonagall gave you some strict guidance on what _not_ to do."

"She wants me to do everything exactly the same, " Hermione swallowed, remembering the warning in McGonagall's words. That she could spoil the peace that was to come if she made the slightest deviation from it. But she didn't want to believe it. She didn't want to believe she was doomed to seeing the platform of students die all over again. She thought of Fred. There was an indescribable pain that pinched her chest at the thought of seeing him again, his eyes looking without seeing as a hollowed laugh froze on his face.

 _No. Not again. Never again_.

"Sir, I know we can't make changes without consequences, but surely—surely they don't all need to die?" It sounded more like a question than she wanted it to. She wanted it to be a statement. What more, a sure one. One he couldn't disprove. One she wouldn't allow him too.

"I agree," he said evenly, "Do you remember your third year? The counsel I gave you at the end of term?"

Her third year was nearly six years ago—but that was her time turner year. Probably the year she could remember best. That was the year that Harry and she had gone back to save Sirius, but only at the Headmasters' suggestion.

"You sent Harry and I back to rescue Sirius," she said mechanically, "Well, Sirius and Buckbeak. They were a package deal. We couldn't get the one with out the other."

"That's correct," he smiled, and then nodded on, "Was there anything else you had wanted to change?"

"I think Harry would have been alright if we had apprehended Pettigrew," she said, clawing his actual name out of her mind and not Wormtail, "That night he escaped and was able to rejoin the Dark Lord."

"Excellent," Dumbledore's enthusiasm surprised her. _How was this Excellent?_ she had thought, _"_ Sir, if we had caught Pettigrew, Voldemort wouldn't have been restored to his body for a little while longer. We could have had time. We could have prepared."

The old man tilted his head and raised a finger, "There are some events in time Miss Granger, that we refer to as ' _Fixed Points.'_ When the first Time Turner Trials were conducted by the Ministry of Magic in the late nineteenth century, it was discovered that there are some events we can't correct, we can't realign. Saving Sirius and Buckbeak, those were flexible points. Those were events that _could_ easily be re-written. The book was not yet finished. But in the case of Peter Pettigrew's continued betrayal, the ink was already dried. There would have been severe consequences had you and Mr. Potter attempted to re-write a fixed point."

She had thought of this a little, what would have happened if she and Harry and pursued him. But the thought was far in the distance as she thought of the events to follow. Dumbledore looked at her again, his finger down but his gaze strong, "I did not call you in her to discuss what you can and can't change, Miss Granger."

"You didn't?" in her mind that was the only reason he would have called her in. If not to present a plan that would return her to her own time.

"No," she noticed Fawkes now, perched on the windowsill, tiling his head to look at her as though even he could see she was out of place.

Dumbledore leaned into the chair, "My only guidance to you is the same which I gave to you those years ago. More than one innocent life can be spared. I am conversing with a Hermione Granger who has seen the war and witnessed the pain it causes. I trust that you'll follow your instincts, but please remember there are consequences that are sometimes out of our control. That there are some deaths that cannot be avoided," he sighed, "And you will bare an extra cross for knowing the difference. A friend saved may lead to a friend condemned, and only you will know the difference and have to live with that knowledge."

Shed be lying if she didn't find some peace in that, if though a haunted peace. How was she to determine which of those she was to lose was unavoidable?

"The reason I called for you Miss Granger, is because of what you know. You are in grave danger," he began again, "Even with a memory charm or modification potion, if you were to fall into enemy ands even for a moment and they pry at your mind—"

She wanted to tell him there wasn't such a time where this would happen. Where she would battle but never fall into their clutches. But then the air turned thick and she could fathom burn of a knife at her throat and words carved on her arm. It was becoming hard to breath. _If Bellatrix was to read your mind—_

No, she wanted to argue, there was no way she would go back here. They would find another way. There had to be another way—

"Miss Granger, once the term begins to settle, I would like to meet with you during your free periods to help you learn Occlumency," he said gently. But she still couldn't make out the words. The air was still so thick. As though she was back in that stale dining room, Bellatrix muttering _Crucio_ in her ear, sharing the secret to insanity she had once shared with Neville's parents.

The phoenix let out a small coo that called her back, and she looked at the headmaster with what she imagined where haunted eyes. "Occlumency?"

"You know how the battle ends. If Voldemort was to learn we are after the Horcruxes, Harry will be pushed that much farther to find and destroy them. "

"The Horcruxes," Hermione said, "They're fixed points aren't they? We can't change the search for Horcruxes, their vital to defeating Voldemort?" she blurted out surprised. "But could we start now? Voldemort is centering his efforts in causing panic and corrupting the Ministry. He won't come for us till next summer. I already know where they are—we could get them now and then—"

Dumbledore gave her a piercing look and she connected the dots. No, they weren't dots, they were chains. And they were chains that were going to weigh her down.

They could get the Locket now, they could destroy it even, but what about the lives that would be saved as they fled the Ministry? She had already thought of the Cattermoles. What would there ripple effect be? The Locket had forced Ron away, but its destruction had oddly brought them back together.

Harry—Harry hadn't known _he_ was a Horcrux until the very end. Until he had gone threw Snape's memories. And he only knew of those memories because they had stormed the school to look for the Diadem that was tucked in the Room of Requirement. Where Ginny had been sent into Battle so they could get in the room. What would happen if she had stayed locked in the room during the battle? Who would have killed Bellatrix? Would it had have been Molly Weasley still? Who would have died because Ginny wasn't dueling the Death Eater?

Bellatrix—she could see the black mane and shrilling laugh as though she was sitting across from Hermione. Not Dumbledore. It was on the hunt for Horcruxes they learned the importance of the Sword of Gryffindor. It was by her being tortured they learned there was something more sacred and special hidden in Gringotts—

 _You're going to have to back again._

"The Hunt for the Horcruxes are going to have to stay the same," the Headmaster said in a soft voice, as though he had peaked into Hermione's head and knew the horror's to come. "Nothing can change from that. You're right it is vital for the Defeat of Voldemort, but more so for Harry developing to that point so _when_ he discovers the role he must play, he can. "

"You're still not going to tell him, are you?" she asked, her voice sharper than she had intended.

"He isn't to know until the very last moment."

His words wrinkled like sand paper against her skin. She looked at him again and couldn't see the Magical Grandfather she had pretended he was at times in her childhood. She couldn't make out the sparkle in his eyes, or hear the words that seemed to always make sense.

She was remembering how much she had blamed him her seventh year. How much she had secretly hated him.

How she had spent nine months on the run, sleeping in a tent with two boys who could take on a horcrux more than they could properly explain their feelings and frustrations. She hated that they were forced to learn from Rita Skeeter about Grindelwald, about Arianna. She hated how she had been forced to wipe her parent's memories and send them on a journey to safety rather than accompany them there—no that wasn't Dumbledore's fault. She would have always stayed—but at the time, she had thought about it. After Ron had left, when she had the Horcrux around her neck. She thought about leaving Harry too. About leaving and showing up in Australia—

"I will send you a note when we decide to start our lessons," Dumbledore said, standing from his desk. He glanced out his window and smiled, "But we best go down to the Great Hall. It looks like the last of the First Year Boats has crossed the lake. Come Miss Granger," she was suddenly called back from her thoughts, "Let's join them."

She didn't say much as they made her way down to the Great Hall. She could see the thick bandages around his hand and she already knew what the ring had done. No matter what she did, it was too late for Dumbledore.

She snuck into the Great Hall as it was still churning with students talking. Waiting for the first years to enter the Hall. Ron caught her eye and waved her over, scooting to share an extra seat.

"You're mental you know? Going to file an avadavat for a prefect score?' he said shaking his head, "Let that be your lesson to you Colin, don't let your mind go as you do your OWLS," he warned to the boy sitting across from them, who just smiled behind those blond curls as his brother on the other side of him asked what an avadavat was.

It was too late for Dumbledore, but who else was it too late for?

* * *

((*))

* * *

She couldn't sleep the first night back.

In her first year, she had a similar problem. Her mother had foreseen this, knowing her anxious daughter would be far too excited (or worried) about starting term at a new school, had pack her a small case of low-dose sleeping pills to help her get a good nights rest before the term began. She had made a habit of keeping a few tucked in her trunk as the years went on, usually just for the first night of term.

She hadn't checked to make sure the pills where there when she left her family earlier in the summer. In part, because the Hermione Granger that came out of the war could fall asleep at anytime, at anyplace and in any case. How many times while in Australia had her mother found her daughter asleep, leaning against the window seat? When the family came back to the Burrow following Fred's death, hadn't Ginny found Hermione later that afternoon asleep in the stair well above the twin's bedroom?

So long as she was exhausted and could will herself so, she ran to sleep as Harry had ran to death in the Forrest. Sleep was never a problem in the early days. It was only when she came back to Hogwarts the nightmares increased her. When she came back to Hogwarts she couldn't sleep in the four poster bed in her dormitory without dreaming about a werewolf kill Lavender.

Now that a _living, breathing_ Lavender was asleep in the bed across her, she couldn't even approach the gods of rest without tossing and turning.

She swung her legs off the bed and grabbed her dressing gown and the book that Fred had given her. The leather felt cool and familiar in her hands, as though it was an old friend. He was smart to design it after a Hogwarts library book. If either Lavender or Paravati were to turn and see her exiting in the light now bathing the room, it would look like the classic Hermione Granger, trying to capture the last few hours before term started, studying for a NEWT class.

She'd typically go to the Common Room, but she kept climbing, going to the little alcove at the top of the staircase. It was from this spot she could look out the window and see the unblemished hill across the lake not yet dotted in white tombs. She waved her wand and four little balls of blue light started dancing around her, adding to the moonlight streaming through the window.

The First night Fred had given her the book, she had started a quick outline of what was to come. The Battle of the Lightening Tower at the end of the Year. The Battle of Hogwarts the year after. The Hunt for Horcruxes taking up the middle. Every night since, she had tried to add an event she could remember: something from their life on the run, or a life that had been lost. Last night she had added a tick mark for Ted Tonk's death in the weeks before their capture and time at the Malfoy Manor.

She looked at the time line again, thinking of Dumbledore's words of "Fixed Points" and the easier to maneuver changeable events. She could feel that anger she had flash earlier when meeting him rise again. _Innocent lives can be saved yes,_ she thought to herself, _but we're supposed to accept we can't save them all?_ Who was time to determine whose death was fixed who's was flexible? Death be not Proud, that was the book that sat on her father's desk at work. Death was unbiased. Death was supposed to not be a respecter of persons. Not a non-negotiable reaper sitting on a battlefield waiting to collect his particular souls.

She skipped a few pages in her book and started writing names of the dead, and when they died. She looked down at her feeble list and knew there were more, but she couldn't remember yet. But she continued. Hermione had read most of the obituaries that had been published in the Prophet after the war and next to the names she added who they'd be survived by. Who would stand on the hill in front of her in two years and say "Thank you for helping defeat the Dark Lord" while their eyes begged "Why couldn't you save my child? You saved so many, why couldn't you save one more?"

She looked down at her final entry. It was Fred's name, May 1998 scribbled behind it as so many on the list. She had written his family members below it, but she added another name now, her own.

She closed the pages and returned to the cover one, scrawling "Mischief Managed" in the corner and watching as the ink seeped in and the book returned to its empty self.

She had been on the fence for so long about what she should do. Should she stand on the sideline and allow time to happen as it had before? Or should she try and be the wise Guardian of Time the Headmaster had supposed she would be.

 _I'm going to save them,_ Hermione told herself, the words almost escaping her as she sat atop the top stair in the staircase _I'm going to save them all._

* * *

AN: I know this isn't the happiest (or most entertaining) of Chapters, but I felt that it had become necessary.I was surprised at how many people where looking for Dumbledore earlier. Also, I felt as though there are some points that Hermione is eager to relive-getting to save people she cares for-but there are going to be situations (*cough*Malfoy manor *cough*) where she's is going to dread. Consequences are going to be a theme of this story and you'll soon learn to see why...

Also, please note when Dumbledore is talking about fixed points it took all I could no to revert to "Wibbly-Wombly-Timey-Whimey" References. I kid with that, but I do think there are some fixed points in Harry, Ron and Hermione's stories that can't be altered and I hope that I'll do a good job showing them as our story goes on.

Fred will be back next chapter and I will say that he has someone who keeps getting stuck in his mind. Stay tuned for next week! Thank you for all of the support, you guys are all stars.


	10. Falling Faults

Chapter 10:

Falling Faults

* * *

((*))

* * *

The weeks following the students return to Hogwarts were among the slowest that the shop at Number 93 Diagon Alley had seen since they first opened. Now they had the spectrum outside the bookends. The Little ten year olds who had to talk their mums into going on a dangerous alley where a madman may be waiting to kill them as they made a pilgrimage to a jokeshop, and then people their own age, fresh out of Hogwarts who, for some reason or another needed to find a place they could sneak away either from the surrounding darkness or the reality of growing up.

George was going through the books that night, trying to see if there was enough in their reserves to consider reaching out and establishing a second shop. After the first season of success, and the untapped gold mine the Ministry and their shield line had been, they had thought about it more. It made sense. Their largest demographic was at Hogwarts more months out of the year than they were outside of it. If they opened a Hogsmeade store, they'd cut shipping prices in half and possibly double profits with students thinking last minute pranks to pull against the prefects and professors.

He'd be lying if he didn't admit the thought of being near a _certain_ prefect hadn't crossed his mind.

 _No, don't think that way Freddie boy,_ he thought, shaking his head over the desk and the workbook he had in front of him. It was Hermione that made he want to open a shop in Hogsmeade, it was something she had inspired.

Ever since Hermione had asked about Time Turners, the idea had been in his head. Say someone was sitting in History of Magic and there was a twenty-minute eternity until the end of the class. aAfew turns of the time turner and you'd find yourself getting ready to leave. It would allow you to fast forwards. To jump ahead. It would have to be marketed as an accessory; something you had to hold on to closely or you'd get lost as time fell around you, but that was easy enough. He just had to get the magic worked out to where it wouldn't kill himself or catapult someone forwards or backwards in time. _That_ could be catastrophic.

There was a design, one he'd been playing with for a couple days now. He wasn't sure exactly what the joke or humor would be behind it, but he couldn't shake it out of his head. It was a time turner. Small. Petite, nowhere near as powerful as the one Hermione had issued to her in her Third Year. He was hoping that would be the products saving grace. The Ministry had very strict regulations against meddling with past events, especially given all the Unspeakables from the Department of Mysteries who had died in the course of the Time Turner Trials. But this would be harmless. Besides, to his knowledge he couldn't think of too much red tape surrounding meddling _future_ events—at least not in the form of a fantasy.

He had done some studies surrounding time when they did the Day Dream Fancies early in the season. It was a way for people to escape reality for an allotment of time while other wise occupied. There were a few charms that had to go to work, but a lot of it was properly brewing a potion that would dull the senses while time traveled on and the body stayed still.

He closed his eyes and he was back at the Platform feeling her arms that had closed the gap and wrap around his neck. He could remember how the sound of the station seemed to dim and the morning appeared that much brighter. Had it been minutes or fleeting moments before his mother's cry had broken the spell? He could remember following the train and watching as she disappeared along the bend, looking at him with her deep, sad, brown eyes.

He wasn't sure where this version of Hermione had come from. The one that hid secrets from Harry and Ron, who talked him out of dark moments, who was the only woman in the Burrow who didn't have a problem with Fleur. The Hermione who had those big, brown sad eyes when she thought no one was looking, or when she was trying to be happy. He knew those eyes. Those where the kind of eyes George and he tried to make bright every day at the shop. But even more so when they were Hermione's.

He had noticed over the summer that she seemed to have the saddest eyes when looking or talking to George. He couldn't explain what happened, but Hermione looked, in her eyes and on her face, as though there was a looming axe over his brother and there was nothing she could do to stop it. As if the latest tragedy she had read about or seen in the _Prophet_ had George's name written in flat, black, dying ink.

 _Don't worry Freddie, Hermione quit Divination,_ he told himself, _you could probably figure out the future better than she could._

He wondered when he'd see her again. He wondered, when that day came, if he'd still be as inclined to her as he had become. If he'd want to hear her laugh at something he said in response to her latest scheme or secret. If he'd still want to bring her an orange box tied with purple string with the latest surprise from the store. She had written him a thank you note for the satchel and he replied with a box of chocolate he said was for her birthday, with the note "What are you thinking?" tucked in one of the truffles like it was an old sentiment they had passed on for years, not just a question asked over summer spells.

Was it possible that he had missed _this_ Hermione for the five years she had been apart of his family?

 _But what have you missed Fred?_ A voice asked again, It sounded like George and Lee. Lord help him if those were the voices of his conscience. _What exactly are your affections and intentions towards Hermione Granger?_

"Hell's finally frozen Freddie" his Brother's real voice called from his desk, reality slamming into him as he slammed his head upright against the wooden cabinets above his work desk.

He couldn't make out the swear he invoked, but once his mono vision returned, his eyes focused in on his brother, now pulled out of the account book, looking over his Mother's nightly epistle. _Something must have happened,_ he thought, almost giddy. Where they to return to the Burrow? Meet someone from the Order? Where they rescuing or on another one of George's "survival" missions?

"What'd you mean?" he asked, tucking the Time Turner design under a book, as he nursed his growing goose egg," I didn't see anywhere in the paper You-Know-Who'd be offering tap dancing lessons."

Fred felt a wad of paper hit his shoulder, as his brother laughed, "No you idiot— Mum got a letter from the school. Ron's finally written and says they've put Snape in as Defense Against the Dark Arts," George smiled broadly, "Obviously Dumbledore's realized it'll be the only way he gets rid of him."

"Ron say anything else?" Fred asked, as a tea cup came zipping to the air and to his side. George skimmed his mother's epistle for more, "Not much—gave a detailed report on Ginny's romantics but not a line about his own. If he doesn't ask Granger out soon He'll have no one to complain to."

The tea cup almost slipped to the desk, "You think so?"

"She's smart, a spitfire—and she doesn't strike me as the waiting forever type," George said, setting the letter down and closing the large book that kept their accounts, "I'm simply saying while the Weasley clan see her Ronniekins sweetheart, not everyone else does," he said, waving a wand as two tankers zipped from the cupboard, "But never mind that. I'm going to go dig in the back for a good bottle. We can toast to the curse surviving one more year and Hope Snape gets finished off by a three headed dog or attacked by an Inferni."

George exited, leaving Fred to sit at his desk. It wasn't drink worthy, but George had taken the last few weeks to celebrating the small things. The things that could keep you going when the world got darker. Fred wished he could think of one of them now because there was a person he had forgotten about in his weeks of befriending Hermione.

 _Nah, not befriending. You've always been her friend,_ he thought. What ever it is they were doing, he could see one person in his head who would have a lot to say if he kept showing up on train platforms with boxes and strings. Someone who might have a lot to say in opposition to him memorizing her laugh.

He'd forgotten about Ron.

He didn't agree with George that she was " _his girl"_ but the had more or less had a conversation identical to this a few summer's back. Saying it would only be too predictable if the two kids who seemed to make the Burrow Home ever summer married into the Weasley Clan. Harry would marry Ginny , his choices were limited and they knew their sister harbored a crush. Hermione though, she had six possible suitors. Bill and Charlie they ruled out immediately; Percy and Hermione, heaven forbid, would produce the most know it all, obnoxious spawn. After Percy's leaving, he was indefinitely ruled out. Hermione could do better. That just left the twins and Ron. They had laughed themselves silly at the thought of either of them and Hermione, the Pranksters and the girl destined to be a Prefect, and had lumped her with Ron.

But the events of the last summer must have meddled his thinking. He could no longer see here as Ron's girl. _He_ certainly didn't want to marry her. He was 17 and she was 16 for Merlin's sake. Besides that, she would never-he could-. There was _something_ that had occurred, so subtly that he didn't want to see her stuck with Ron.

A cauldron of Amortentia bubbled down the counter and he could smell the familiar lilacs and honey that had crept in there as of late. He waved his wand and sealed off the cauldron, following his brother. They were going to need some of the _strong,_ good stuff tonight.

* * *

((*))

* * *

The first month went by slower than she had anticipated.

In the back of her mind she thought this could happen. It would be difficult to go back and sit through lectures a second time. Part of her thought if she had the memory span of Ron, this wouldn't be too rough. Pick up on things that she had missed the first time around. But after Snape's Inaugural lesson as Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts over non-verbal spells dragged on, she realized how long the year was going to be.

Snape had been ghost she hadn't anticipated being jarred by, and yet she was all the same. Sitting in his class, she realized how useful Occlumency would be. If Snape were to peak in her brain, that would be disastrous. Yes, she would be concerned about what he would learn about the War, where they hid and what they were doing—but more intimately, she was afraid what Snape would do if he saw flashes of his death play out in her head. Or, more importantly, if he knew Hermione had learned of his secret love and relationship with Lily Potter.

Harry's thoughts towards Snape had made a radical turn after the War. She feared that Snape's memories, given as he bled out, had meddled with Harry's own recollections of the past seven years of being a student under Severus Snape. He had gone so far, in the post war, to call Snape "One of the Bravest men he ever knew" in a testimony before the Board of Governors, pushing for a portrait of the late Headmaster and a memorial to be put at Hogwarts School. This had bothered Hermione, as well as several others of their classmates. The knowledge of his history as a spy had become subject of the new wave of War Historians. Harry's disclosure in the final battle with Voldemort, that Snape had only turned double agent out of Love for Lily Evans had sent the post war world on a hunger near identical romances. She had seen Flourish and Blotts even marketing _"Always: the Severus Snape Story"_ set to come out for the anniversary of the Battle. Snape had was good, had become Harry's mantra. Snape was a good man and Harry wanted his name to live on as a good man, who was flawed, but at his core good.

Hermione thought that Harry seemed to have forgotten the Snape who had made Neville's life a living hell since his first year. Or the Snape who had belittled him, his father, and Sirius at any moment he could. Or the Snape who had sent Hermione crying to the Hospital Wing with oversized beaver teeth in her fourth year. The Snape who had let his exposed memories be the reason he ended Harry's Occlumency lesson. He may not known that would play a role to Sirius' death in the Department of Mysteries, but Hermione was biased enough to say the old Potions Master hadn't morn that passing. If Harry would ask her what her thoughts on Snape were, she might say he was "complex at best" but she struggled to see what was so heroic about a man who turned repentant after the death of his unrequited love, and spent year after year making the son who survived and any of his friends lives a living hell.

In Hermione's opinion, Neville was among the bravest men she had ever known. In part, for how he was able to rise above the years of damage Snape had contributed to his self-esteem, but also how he had rallied together Dumbledore's Army when the trio had abandoned Hogwarts. Molly Weasley who dueled the woman behind the murder of her brothers and who had taunted her over the death of her son—wasn't that bravery? Or Remus— who had carried the weight of his illness since a child, who had lost his entire world on a cold October night but had persevered and carried on to be a mentor for his dead's friends son. Remus who had lost so much himself, but was still always the first to Harry's side. Wasn't that bravery? Where was the memorial at Hogwarts for the greatest Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor the school had seen in the Pre-War years? Part of her had hoped Harry would make similar public comments on Remus Lupin in front of the board. And she supposed that someday he might—but these thoughts would have to wait for her and Fred's book. She couldn't keep these thoughts on the surface or they'd start screaming out to Snape and she could only imagine how quickly he'd react.

Aside from Snape and the newfound boredom in her homework, the school year was going on as it normally would. It was only in in transfiguration she's was not getting awarded point for her answers and skill at the tasks her Professor's placed before them. No one had called Professor McGonagall out for this, and she tried to be less forward in answering questions in class because she knew McGonagall knew of her past. Hermione had been the one to confess to her for heavens sake. It was all right with her. She didn't care for House Points. Winning the cup every year hadn't saved any lives after all.

* * *

((*))

* * *

She was sitting in the Common Room on a Wednesday night. There had been a cluster of first years near the fire earlier, but they had already trudged up to bed. She was surprised Ron hadn't come in from running drills, preparing for the Quidditch tryouts. She had thought about sneaking down and doing her homework down there, but something had held her back and she sat curled in front of the fire working on her Potions essay. She'd wait here for them. Harry should be finishing his first private lesson with Dumbledore. She hadn't gotten her summons, but had decided Harry, as always would come first. She'd read the theory of Occlumency before it was her turn at last.

She was on better footing in Sixth Year potions than she had been before. Professor Slughorn had held her after class earlier in the week to invite her to his first Slug Club gathering. She hoped she'd get better at dogging them her second time around but she doubted it. Slughorn was still persistent and repeating time and trying to save lives had made her determined in some areas and more passive in others. But there was always a skivving snack if she needed it and she felt like she would soon.

Harry was becoming the top potionier of his class and Hermione was siting back, holding d her tongue. She was still giving him dirty glances over the Half-Blood Prince's book, because that's what she had done the time before. She knew wondered how much she should change with that. Sectumsempra hadn't saved their lives when they were on the run had it? Did Harry need to know that? What good would come of Harry and Draco dueling and Harry nearly gutting Draco? Did that jar Malfoy to questioning his own mortality?

 _No but it did keep someone's mortality—it would save Ron._

She had wanted to throw it in the lake. She wanted to snatch when Harry left it in the common room and swap it out with her own. She had already started changing the covers when she remembered the bezoar. Ron's life depends on that book just as much as anything else. She knew there would be other ways to tell Harry about a Bezoar. She could start morning survival tips. She could insist they always carry a Bezoar. She could insist Fred and George not sell to Romilda Vane, but it'd take more than a threat to tell their mother. They'd want to know _why_ and she had a feeling if she told them one thing—one foreshadowing—it wouldn't take long before her carefully constructed web came crashing down.

 _Or she could just let things happen as they had before._

Regardless of how she was beginning to feel about him in the future, she needed him to be alive for her to feel that way. She didn't need him to meet his end on his seventeenth birthday thinking he was passionately in love with another girl. She needed him. Harry needed him. They needed him alive. She had seen what Fred's death had done to the Weasley clan, she didn't need to see what Ron's death would do. Ron had said that he was the least favorite, but that was nowhere near the truth. She knew better.

 _Maybe the book is a fixed point,_ she though to herself before dismissing the thought. She had pushed off this essay as long as she had for Potions with all of her extra research on the topic of Fixed Points. There was not a fair deal written on the subject, the most recent piece she had found was by Prof. John Smith of Nottingham in his essay's _"A Journal of Extraordinary Travels"_ written in the late Edwardian era, and it was a loose discussion at best.

Not tonight, she told herself. Tonight she had to write an analysis of the Amortentia Potion. Not over a flimsy topic of points that were fixed and being forced to play god in determining who lived and who died.

She had a rough outline. She could remember what she had said last time, she remembered that she had gotten top marks on it. But there was something different about the potion this time. She could still smell fresh cut grass—her dad would cut the yard at night and they slept with their windows open. She could smell the fresh cut grass in the morning dew every summer in her childhood. It was a staple. It was classic. And the smell of parchment—that went without saying. Even the muggle library Hermione had grown up with could tell she liked the smell of books.

But the third. She had always identified it as the smell of Ron's hair. Cinnamon and mahogany oil. But that smell wasn't as defined as she remembered. She could definitely trace this smell to the Burrow, but it was just that familiarity. It smelt like fresh soap and pine—like when Mrs Weasley set on a cleaning spree of the Burrow. It bothered her that she couldn't place it. She had been in a relationship with Ron for seven months before the accident that returned her to her sixth years. Shouldn't that be the first smell that came to mind? Why was it something so radically different?

There was a shuffle at the Portrait hole and she could see Ron coming through, a bag at his side and a broom in hand. His cheeks were read from the chill of the Autumn air. "You were out there longer than usual," Hermione said, moving her books from the side cushion where they had sat, making room for him.

"I wasn't the only one that decided to start practicing," Ron said, tossing his bag on the floor and leaning the broom against the mantle before he collapsed in the space she had just made for him.

"Who else was out there?" she asked surprised, pushing her potions essay aside. Is this what not doing homework felt like for he boys? She may grow to like that.

"D'you know Cormac McClaggen?" Ron said, opening an eye from his other wise exhausted pose.

 _Did she yet her sixth year?_ "Just in passing," she said, raising her shoulders and looking back at her essay wearily, "He's a seventh year, right?"

"He's an arse, that's what he is," Ron continued, lifting his head up from the couch as he leaned forward, his arms on his lanky legs, hunched over to talk to her. "Spent the last two hours critiquing _my form_ when he—"

"Don't give him the time of day," Hermione interrupted, leaning into the couch with the essay and quill in hand, "Your five times the keeper he could ever be and he's just trying to get into your head."

Silence followed as she scratched the words into her parchment. After a few moment he turned and looked at her surprised, "You think I'm that good?"

"We don't sing McClaggen's our king," Hermione smiled. She missed this. She missed what it was like early in their relationship after the war. When they were still trying to determine what the difference between friendly and flirty would be. When any exchange could easily be read as the other, but they'd always have a tell. For her, her head would tilt to the right. For him, he'd play with the curl at the nape of his neck. He was doing it now, and she was trying to suppress the smile that would betray her.

"Your right," he said, smiling for the both of them. "You going to come watch the trials this weekend? Maybe you could lead the song?"

This time she did laugh, "No, I won't be leading any songs, but I'll be there."

"Promise?" he said faintly, and she was taken aback to a few other times he and thrown out that word.

" _We'll go with him. We'll follow him and destroy Voldemort for good this time,"_ she had said when they left Hogwarts their sixth year. _"You're family's safe. We're all safe. We'll see them again at Christmas time, just you wait and see,"_ she had said as they laid next to each other that first night on the run. " _It'll get better—we'll find another Horcrux and it'll get better,"_ when he started to lose hope. " _When all of this is over, we can try to be more than this,"_ she had said that the night before he left. Hoping it'd be enough to keep him to stay. Each time he responded the same way. Except towards the end. That last promise, that had become sarcastic, more a mockery than a whisper of a hope he held out now.

"Someone has to make sure you and Harry don't get killed with Beater tryouts. Fred and George are one in a million, it'll be tough to replace them" she dismissed, continuing her essay.

That had seemed to shut him up. He was still sensitive about his brothers for some reason, Fred in particular. She thought she could see a touch of red in his ears. "Have you heard from them?" he asked, "Since your buddies with them now?"

"Owl Post works both ways, you want to hear from your brothers you can write them" she said as a matter-of-fact. But she coupled with it, "That's what they said to tell you if you asked. They're doing well though."

He leaned back into the couch and she couldn't make out what troll response he had to that. She had gotten one letter. She had written to say thank you for the bag and Fred responded with a box of chocolates for her birthday a few weeks earlier. She was meaning to write him back. She supposed she'd do that in a little bit. She could do that now, that'd be less time she'd have to spend on this essay.

She could do that and then review the journal, see what major event she had to be preparing for and how that could save any of the name she had scribbled down in her book.

"It's late—I'm going to head up."

"But Harry's not back yet," Ron started, "We said we'd wait up."

"It's late and I have to finish some things before I go to bed," she explained but she was becoming short, "Besides, Harry always tells us to go to bed rather than wait up. He's with Dumbledore, it could be a while yet."

"Just do you writing down here, you've been doing it all night in the common room," he said motioning to her spot. "I've got some stuff to work on myself. Why do you have to go up to your dorm when—" his voice stopped and his face took on a shade deeper than normal "Do you have to writing someone Hermione?"

"I don't _have_ to write to anyone Ronald," she said briskly, waving her wand and as her scattered contents began to stack themselves. "Besides, it's none of your concern who I _choose_ to correspond with."

" _You aren't even friends with Fred—"_ he scathed, "Why are you writing him? He's not interested in—"

A golden bird flew out of her wand before she realized it, its beak hitting Ron square in the forehead before it burst into a golden ball of feathers, "Good Night Ronald," she said evenly before ran up the stairs.

She could hear his feet follow behind her. She hopped on the first floor landing of the tower and watched as the stone steps smoothed in a slide, and could hear Ron swear when he landed in the Common Room again.

In full honestly, she hadn't not meant to send the bird out to him. That wasn't supposed to happen for a few weeks yet. She was going to be too wrapped up in trying to save their lives she had decided not to interfere with Won-Won and Lav. The golden dart had just come through so naturally. Like a non-verbal reflex.

Neither Lavender or Parvati were in her dorm when she arrive, so she threw her bag against her bed stand and started changing into her night clothes. There would be no letter. Not tonight. Not until she had cooled down.

She had missed so much about Ron, but she hadn't missed the trait that had survived their camping amongst the horcrouxes and into the post war: his jealousy.

* * *

AN: I'm sorry this is so wordy. It's less conversation than I had originally intended. I'm glad some of you enjoy the Post-War memories Hermione falls into, I particularly love writing them. Kind of had to have a Snape vent... any who...Next Chapter is going to be a bit of a long one, but we need to start covering distances. First lesson with Dumbledore and we may end at Hogsmeade where there may be _someone_ coming to see if a joke shop would be a good idea. I wonder who that could be...

Thank you all for your lovely support. We cleared 100+ follows last chapter and I very much appreciate it! I apologize for any uncorrected errors. Editing while on cough medicine is not the best idea.

Until Next Week...~KH


	11. Falling Together

Falling Together

* * *

 _She was sitting on a pew, the hard wood pushing her back to curl forward and her head to slightly bow. Her feet couldn't quite touch the floor but her toes could skim the velvet knee rest out in front of her. It was a warm, sticky Sunday afternoon. Her hair was in weak curls that wouldn't last the rest of the service. She was wearing a blue starched dress that was itchy, but she was wearing little white lace gloves that would offer no relief. She looked up and saw the alter, the children's choir calling to the heavens as the stain glass saints sent their condemning looks at the squirming petitioner below. "Hold still," her Granny Granger whispered between her prayer beads, "Hold still Hermione"—and the scene faded—_

 _It was summer, she was racing the kids from school to the Carnival set around the square, the May Pole decked with ribbons and flower as her mum called in the distance, waving her crown of flowers she had made for her, lilacs and purple ribbons—again it faded, and she was sitting beside Nora watching The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe being preformed at the children's pantomime is Essex, the boy acting as Aslan roaring Spring back to Narnia—but that too began fading again and she was in her first year telling Ron to stop waving his wand before he poked out an eye, quite possibly her own.…_

 _No_ , she reasoned, _this was wrong_. She had fallen through time, but not through her childhood. She felt her self lose balance and stumble to the ground while the scene disappeared from eyes.

Her vision sharpened and she could make out her surroundings. She had fallen out of the chair in Dumbledore's office. It was a cold, sleeting Saturday Morning. Harry and Ron had just departed for Hogsmeade and she was sitting in her very first Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore. Or at least, she was _trying_ to sit in the lesson, lately all she seemed capable of doing was falling.

"Brought up in a religious home Miss Granger?" Dumbledore asked pouring tea into her cup as to calm her, he had said he'd do as much. This was turning out to be nothing like Snape's lessons with Harry for which she was grateful. She had no desire to have her mind bombarded as Harry had. Dumbledore said he'd just be grazing. Eventually, if needed, he would press like Snape had, but only when the time was ready or warranted.

It was odd, but she enjoyed the memories he had brought up so far. Most of them were old, nearly forgotten. It was as though she was looking at photographs that had been lost in an album. Even the sticky Sunday wasn't too awful. So long as he didn't see her at Quidditch Try outs a few weeks ago confounding McClaggen to help Ron, she was alright. Well, that and not seeing the future. That was to be guarded as well.

"Dad's Catholic, Mum's Anglican," she said, shaking her head, "Brought me up in the Church of Scotland to spite my grandparents I think." She wanted to laugh at this but just drank more of her tea, letting it settle the thoughts that had for so long sat still, "When I would visit my Granny Granger she'd take me to mass—but otherwise nothing overly religious," Dumbledore nodded, relaxing in his chair.

"What we just went through was a safe view of your memories. I looked distinctly for childhood memories, the dormant kind, the ones that don't seem significant and quite possibly have nothing of importance attached. I apologize but I was particular in what time period I wanted to pull up," he explained, "Given the events that you have seen, I'd rather not spoil the future so soon. We can wait till a later lesson for that. By which time I expect you'll be able to defend your mind and cast me out."

She nodded. When she had first come in Dumbledore had said the first lesson was to show and explain. To take it gradual.

"Now, should you ever be at risk, remember that those trying to read your mind are going to be limited by your proximity towards them, as well as eye contact. One or both of those is needed for Occlumency to be successful."

"But Sir," Hermione interrupted, setting down the porcelain cup, "What about Harry? When it came to his Occlumency, it was because you thought Voldemort would read his mind from a far correct?"

The Professor gave a weary smile, "In Harry's case, as seems to be the tradition with him, he was above the rules. I feared the connection between Voldemort and Harry would be strong enough it would have served as a third way to assault him," he shook his head, "I was right in some ways, wrong in others. When you were unconscious at that time in the Department of Mysteries, you may have heard Voldemort _did_ take possession—which he couldn't have done without the relatively small distance as well as their mental connection."

 _Just another plug in to be grateful you're not a horcrux._

"So I'll just have to worry about one method or the other," She kept thinking of Malfoy Manor. She had tried not to think of it lately or she could feel the ghost of the blade against her skin. To know _that_ would happen again was chilling. To know if she messed up and let Bellatrix read her mind—that was the most chilling thought of all. If they found about they were hunting for _four_ remaining horcruxes, orders be damned, they all would have been executed on the spot. She had no doubt about that.

"Precisely, just be aware of your proximity and eye contact," the Headmaster continued. "We're going to try this again, but this time I want you to try and repress your thoughts. Have you ever conjured a Patronus Miss Granger?"

"Yes, last year," she said thinking of her Otter, feebly floating around her at the Battle of Hogwarts before turning into wisps around Ron's Jack Russell Terrier. She hadn't realized that had been the last time until now. It was strange, she wondered what would have happened if she had that patronus with her the day of the accident—

"A method you can use to shield your mind is very similar to conjuring your patronus" Dumbledore explained. "You will often have an idea what memories are most at risk for being read and meddled with. The better you know your enemy, the better you are at protecting your secrets. This method calls on you to repress them. To push them as far back in your memory as possible by thinking of a happy memory—or a powerful memory—that masks the threatened memories."

"But if I'm trying not to think about the threatened memories, how can they miss what they're looking for?" Hermione asked

"In a way you're masking the scent. Memories are strong, but at days end your mind is _yours_ Miss Granger. And if it knows that it is under attack, it is going to respond to your defense mechanisms."

 _Why hadn't Snape told Harry this?_ She wanted to ask, Harry could cast a Patronus at thirteen, had he known this, he probably could have closed of his mind just as well. _Bravest man you ever knew, eh?_ She wanted to tell him but thought better of it. She'd give him an _" I told you so_ " if this ever got sorted out. Spare some future child a fateful name— _no, not even Harry's that stupid…_

Normally when she cast a Patronus, she thought of when she walked into the Great Hall the morning after the Mountain Troll.

It was ridiculous that _that_ morning was her happiest thought. That morning, Hermione had wanted to stay in bed and miss her morning classes, sneaking in during the afternoon without drawing attention to herself. But something pushed her to get out of her bed. She couldn't remember if it was Lavender or Paravati threatening to stay with her and keep her company, but she got out of bed and got ready, slowly walking into the Great Hall around ten past eight.

Right after the troll, the three of them _had_ walked back to the tower together. She was walking with Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, and his best friend Ron Weasley, the boy-who-laughed-at-everything-except-himself. But she didn't care. She was walking with them and they had faced a troll and survived. She figured it was the exhilarating adrenaline that came with a near death experience that kept her from telling them the various ways they could have meant their deaths. Instead they talked about the troll, about Quidditch, about the feast before the troll arrived in the castle.

But it all seemed to be like a spell. She couldn't believe it had happened when she woke up the next morning. She half expected Harry and Ron to ignore her that morning, just as they had every other morning. She was even prepared for that. What she hadn't been prepared for was Harry, calling out her name and waving her over to where he and Ron sat, a third plate saved next to them.

"We were starting to worry you didn't eat," Harry had said, scooting over and letting her on to the pew.

"But that's ridiculous," Ron said, shoving another piece of toast into his mouth, "Who doesn't eat Breakfast? It's a crime—"

And then they had asked about her night, if she had seen Snape limping that morning. She asked if they had done their homework for McGonagall and Ron moaned, saying he was struggling with the buttons into sugar cubes. She had hesitated, but she said she could help him if he'd like. That time Ron Weasley hadn't mimicked her or pegged her as a know-it-all. Instead, he smiled and said that'd be great.

That morning she had walked into the Great Hall assuming she'd spend it much like the day before, alone and trying to find her place at Hogwarts. She'd end up running out of the hall with Harry and Ron, the three of them having lost track of time talking and laughing at Ron's troll impersonation; Professor Sprout would give them a dirty look and Hermione had to answer three Questions from the Homework to get back the points they had lost for tardiness, but she had gotten more than house points that day, she had gotten her first true friends.

But for some reason, she didn't think that memory would hold up against Bellatrix Lestrange. She would need something stronger to use as a shield, something to hide against.

 _But you're not a hider. You're Hermione Granger. You don't hide from anyone or anything;_ She coached herself in her own little pep talk.

" _What are you thinking?"_ a familiar voice sounded in her conscious, _Fred—_

She whipped her head up and returned her attention to Professor Dumbledore who was sitting there with a smile, "Have a happy thought to try and shield?"

"I—"

There was when she hugged Fred at the train station and she could smell the faint gunpowder smell in his hair, she hugged a body that would soon only know the embrace of the soft ground and green grass of the Guard's Hill— _no, not this time. He's not dying this time—_

When he rubbed the salve against the bruise on her eye, the two of them talking into the night. His sideways smirks and laughing, _living_ eyes…

 _Merlin Granger, do you want Dumbledore to know you may be falling—_

 _Falling._

"I have one that might work," Hermione sighed, pushing her tea forwards so not to knock it over if she stumbled as she had last time.

"Concentrate," Dumbledore coaxed, standing up and raising his wand, "and clear your mind. You're good with non-verbals, but you can try verbal if that will work to repel. I'm going to be slightly more aggressive. Try and block it out."

She nodded and tried to keep her mind focused on blocking out Fred—the War—Guard's Hill—

She was playing on the school yard with Nora when she was a little girl, bouncing balls against the wall—the scene was shifting and there was a boy her age she didn't recognize. He had red hair and light hazel eyes. There was a crack and the wall appeared to be falling, but it was no longer a wall of bricks and mortar but snow, rushing down the mountainside. Her mind kept switching from the snow to the boy, each time it did so the boy became older, until she realized who it was, and realized the snow was about to crash down on both her and Fred, in the school yard and on the slopes.

 _Not this time, not this time—_

" _Protego!"_ Hermione bellowed and Dumbledore was knocked off his feet onto the ground.

" _Professor!"_ she exclaimed, getting to her feet and helping him to his own, "Are you alright?"

"Well done Miss Granger," he beamed, dusting off a phoenix feather that had stuck to the wrappings on his bad hand, " _Very_ well done indeed. Here," he waved his wand and a purple wrapped bar appeared on his desk, "Have a chocolate bar. They're good for more than Dementor attacks."

"Are you alright?" she asked again. She couldn't remember how old Dumbledore's obituary said he was, but she knew it was slightly older than his actions would give off. "I'm quite alright Miss Granger," he said as he flicked his wand and a fresh teapot levitated from the fire to his desk. "You keep practicing and there's hope for your secret yet."

The first genuine smile since they had started class spread across her face, "Thank you Professor."

He pulled out his watch and frowned, "I'm afraid it's half past eleven. I have business with at the Ministry Miss Granger, I fear that will have to be all for today. We'll meet again in the next month. I fear between my personal research and Harry's lessons my time isn't as plentiful as I would like."

"It's alright Professor," Hermione said, picking Fred's bag from her feet and heading towards the door, "Have fun at the Ministry."

"Enjoy Hogsmeade, It'll be better than any Ministry Visit," the Headmaster chuckled as she disappeared down the stairwell.

She hadn't thought about going. From the window near the Headmasters office, she could already see some carriages turning back to the castle. The sleet that had come down earlier had slowed down now, and the air was chilled. But there was hot butter beer waiting in the Three Broomsticks if she wanted it. She still had till sunset to wander the village. Harry and Ron were there already, if memory served her right, drinking and talking about Harry's theory Draco was a Death Eater.

If she stayed, she knew all she would do was sit in the Common Room for a few undisturbed hours with her journal. But something called her to the village. She couldn't help but think something important was to happen. Maybe she could go get a new book—they had been quick to fill the battle-shelled bookstores back up with stories about the war. She had lived that, she didn't need to read it—and it would be nice to go and escape, even if it was just for a couple hours—

She draped the bag across her chest and ran down the stairs, looking forward to one quite adventure—only slightly deterring from time—as the bells of Hogwarts chimed noon.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Fred Weasley's heart broke when he apparated to the first little store at the edge of the village.

He knew he should not be as pleased as the sign on the door said that Ziblimi Zonko was sad to announce that due to the competitive marketing done by two Zonko's inspired jokesters, he had closed shop. He and George had heard rumors about this for a while, but he hadn't wanted them to be true. Not yet. Not until they had offered to buy the store. Instead he stood under the porch, reading the notice of closure and trying to look through the boarded up windows of what used to be his favorite store.

Mum had written that the kids at the school had a Hogsmeade weekend coming up. Making another waist tray filled with pranks, he had set out Vertie and Lee to make some sales and surveys, see what the kids at the school wanted the most. They'd do their homework while he dug around Zonkos. He had even prepared to go Incognito, covering his tell tale red hair with a dark, chestnut dye that would buy him an hour or so of ambiguity. Just to be safe, he had even used an identity deifier amulet, adding a hooked nose and green eyes to seal his secret.

But Zonko's was closed and he didn't get to fool anyone.

Zonko's was a staple to Hogsmeade as much as Honeydukes. He looked down the High Street for a moment and saw that it was standing room only in the Candy Shop with no where else for the third years to go and explore. He supposed some would hike up to the Shrieking Shack, but in this weather he highly doubted it.

It was a small wave of kids that had escaped the school. He wondered how many parents _hadn't_ signed the permission forms this year, not wanting to risk their child's safety for a Saturday away from the castle. The crowd was no where near as large as it had been his sixth year, but it had been more crowded then, with Beauxbatons and Durmstrang adding to the constraints of the castle. He could have sworn they had thrown in an extra Hogsmeade weekend just to give Filtch a chance to clean the parts of the castle most overrun. He could make out how down the street Vertie and Lee were selling from the waist trays, similar to how he had done at Platform 9 3/4, they're bright magenta robes still visible in the falling sleet.

 _They'd either buy it in town or in the castle,_ he noted, looking at the scene. _If we were to open in town and not out in the elements—_

But he didn't want to think of that now. He had enjoyed watching people arrive in Hogsmeade. Ginny, arm in arm with that Dean Thomas fellow. He wasn't afraid of him, he figured Ron slept in the same dormitory and if he needed to be taken care of. Ron could do that much. He'd just _act_ as though he was giving Ginny a hard time. He'd honestly rather see her with Dean then that Terry Boot fellow. He had seen Ron and Harry earlier, but he doubted they had left the Quidditch shoppe yet—except there had been a gaggle of girls following the two like hungry geese—

But he hadn't seen Hermione. He told himself that she had probably looked in the mirror and realized that there were only so many days before she would be sitting for her NEWTs and that she was already wasting time. _You can't ever be sure Freddie,_ he told himself, _She'd choose the wit before the laughter any time…_

And then there was a carriage that came around the corner. A girl with brown hair jumping out of it and walking towards the front of the carriage. She was muttering and nuzzled the air before patting the vacant air as a seasoned mime before walking way.

 _She can see Threstals._ He thought to himself and he couldn't explain why that froze his insides. He knew Harry could, but he was facing the Dark Lord every year it seemed. Could his brother see them? Had she gained the ability fighting Voldemort or was this a death in her Muggle World? It didn't seem right to ask her, "So Hermione, who have you seen die" to satisfy his curiosity. Instead he wanted to turn to the Fates, point at Hermione and ask _"Of all the people in the world, can't you give this one a break? No more bad things. She's had enough of them. Just give this girl a rest—"_

He was halfway through his argument with the imaginary Fates when he looked up at her again and saw that she was looking at him with an amused look on her face. He was still disguised, _perhaps Hermione has a thing for Brown Hair and big nose, she did fancy Krum that one year._

She was now walking towards him and Fred found himself going through his head trying to come up with what a Bulgarian accent would be like when she called in the distance, "Fred Weasley, what have you done to your hair?"

Any attempt for an accent disappeared, "How did you know it was me?"

Her hand went up to his hair and she tugged at a strand, _"_ Your roots are growing out exponentially," she smirked, and he wondered if she could keep playing with his hair. She pulled her hand back to her side, as though the growing red had burned her. She looked at him a little closer around his neck and shook her head, "Are you advertising your amulets again?"

"If it wasn't for the fading hair, you wouldn't have had the slightest idea would you," Fred asked, trying not to smile as broadly as he wanted to, knowing _she_ could still see him.

"I'd still have had my suspicions," she nodded, looking at his bags, "No one hangs around a boarded up jokeshop like Zonko's without getting on my radar."

"Prefect Prank Radar? It does exist?" he toyed.

She nodded, but gave him a wink, "We're all equipped with one and mine's being going off since I got off that carriage."

It was so natural, the banter between the two of them, he wondered why they had never done it before. Like talking to George, there was a constant, steady cadence. He took a deep breath and looked her way, "What are you thinking?" he asked, hands in his pocket. This had become their question. The staple to their conversations.

"Nothing," she said, laughing despite herself, "Why what are you thinking?"

"I actually have something today," he continued "Would you want to go get a bite to eat? Give that Prefect Radar a well earned rest?"

She looked at him and smiled, "Yeah," she said "I think that would be nice. But do take off that amulet," she insisted, " You look like Viktor Krum trying to be a Weasley," she said with a laugh. "Where do you want to eat?"

Sill standing under the covering of Zonkos, he looked down the high street, "We could go the Hogs Head, but we know the food's rubbish there," he started, she nodded at this, "Don't think we'd have the time to digest it. So really its the Three Brook Sticks or Puddifoots—" did he actually say that? Did he actually say _Puddifoots?_ What was he trying to do sabotage what ever this was with Hermione? And What about Ron? Word gets out that Fred Weasley took Hermione Granger to Madam Puddifoots and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that there would be fists over his mother's fig pudding at Christmas.

 _You're friends. You and Hermione are Friends. Nothing more. Relax._

Hermione coded her head and looked at him skeptically, "We need to get you to the Three Broomsticks immediately, the sleets messing with your brain," she said, looping one of her arms around his, and he instantly felt a small rush of warmth from his elbow up.

* * *

((*))

* * *

The Three Broomsticks was always packed on Hogsmeade Weekends, but even more so when the weather was bad.

They ended up finding a small table in the back near the rest rooms and fireplace. It was plenty warmer than it was outside, Rosemerta having put a few extra logs to compensate for the sleet and new falling snow.

"Why didn't you come up into town with Harry and Ron?" he asked once their Butterbeers had arrived. She had her arms resting in the mugs as though she was enjoying the warmth coming from the tanker. "I had morning lessons."

He raise an eyebrow, "You're taking more lessons? Take it from someone who ended their education early Granger, more classes don't always mean good things."

She rolled her eyes, "They're lessons with Dumbledore. That's all."

"Why are you taking classes with him?" he asked intrigued, "Is it _Friends of the Chosen One 101?"_

She smiled, shaking her head, "No, it's—" the smile faded and was turning to hesitation, "It's complicated."

"You're being trained on how to be the Minister of Magic? Do you need help with a coup d'état?" he tried hoping to make her laugh, or at least smirk. Something other than knit her eyebrows together.

"Oh come on, you can tell me," he tried, and they knit together more, "Or not. You don't need to fret about it."

"Sorry, I was thinking about something else," Hermione said her eyebrows still fixed together, "Ron and I have been arguing again."

He leaned forward and pulled his thumb upwards on her forehead, lifting the crease, "There we go. Now explain to me what Ronnikins did now?"

Hermione tilted her head, "Why do you automatically side with me?" she asked, a smile tugging the corners of her lips, "You don't have to—"

"Oh I know," he chimed in perfectly, "But you see, Ron was the best thing that ever happened to George and I growing up. He was a toddler once George and I started ruining dinners and quite days at home. How did the cat's tale catch fire? Ron did it. How did the dish break—must have been Ron," he smiled at the memory. We knew Mum wasn't going to get cross with her little baby boy, and we weren't going to blame Ginny, so naturally Ron became the scape goat."

"You're lucky you had siblings to pass the blame off too," Hermione said with a wistful smile. "Oh yeah, you are an only child, aren't you?"

She nodded, taking a quick swig of her Butterbeer. "I'd blame things on my imaginary friend, Nora."

He tried to imagine a small Hermione Granger running around doing tricks and pranks. It was like trying to imagine Percy doing the same. "What did you and Nora do?" He asked, mischief echoing in his words.

"When I was little I'd spend summers at My Granny Granger's," she started, "But sometimes she'd have to go to Mass or meetings and I'd play sick so she'd take me to my Aunt Florence for he afternoon."

"Faking sick, now devious," he joked, "Come on Granger, you had to do better than that."

"I'm not done with the story," she started, her cheeks getting a little red as he interrupted her. He wanted to say it was the warmth of the fire mixed with the butterbeer, not that she was actually angry.

"Anyway," she continued, "I think I was seven, and I was bored. Auntie Flo didn't have kids. She was a neat freak, everything always in order. She had these plastic mats that were to protect the carpet, but they had little needles on the bottom so they'd stick. It was towards the end of my summer visit and I just wanted to go home so badly—Nora and I may have flipped some of the mats needle side up, and waited in the parlor for Granny to call and tell Flo she was coming to pick me up."

He tried imagining Hermione the tiny prankster and he could slightly see it, The way she smiled with her eyes, the knitted frown slowly melting away, "You devious little witch, what happened next?"

"The phone rung and Auntie Flo walked on needles," Hermione laughed, "I got in so much trouble for that. I tried blaming it on Nora but that's when Mum and Dad said I had to be a big girl and send Nora away," she said, her laughter now absent. "But it was fun while it lasted."

"Very nice Granger," he said raising his tanker to hers. "To Mischief being Managed," he toasted, and then stopped, and looked at her again. "How's the book going?"

"Brilliantly," she answered, "No one has sneak tattooed on their face yet, so I think my secrets are safe. Shop's going on alright?"

"Without a hitch," he smiled now. He almost told her about the 'Time Line' he was trying to put together with the mini-time turners, but it was still in development. There was something about it that made him want to keep it secret for now. Well, more surprise than secret. "You'll get to see the holiday collection soon enough I promise."

"I look forward to it," she laughed, wrapping her hands around her tanker again.

"Good," he replied. "So shop's good, the book's working- annoying Ron is working— this year's going ok for you?"

She seemed to hesitate and the sad, big, brown eyes seemed to find their way back to her face. As though she was looking at him with a big secret she didn't even want to whisper about, "Hermione, are you alright? You can tell me if something's the matter."

She shook her head, looking at the tanker. "No it's fine, I—It's just been different this year, that's all. It's been different being back—"

"Without the Charming Pranksters to direct your Prefect Prank Hunts against?" he joked trying to crack a smile; it worked. _It always worked._

"Something like that," Hermione said warmly.

"Maybe things will settle once the Quidditch season starts again?" he offered, "I just saw Katie go into the W.C, when she gets out, maybe I could ask her about the season and she could give us some spoilers. Maybe George and I could come out and—"

But Hermione's face seemed to turn to stone when he said Katie's name. She tensed up. She looked as though she could have been cursed the change was so immediate. It was as though she had forgotten something dreadfully important at the last minute. "I'll be right back," she said, turning around and walking towards the restrooms.

"Hermione—I said I'd—" she disappeared and his echo of " _ask"_ fall on the hollow table.

She was absent but the lilacs and honey still floated in the air. It was starting to annoy him. Perhaps after they had put the Valentines Day Collection together, he would talk to George about only brewing that damn Amortentia once every month so to spare his senses from becoming so familiar and prone to it. He couldn't have a drink with a mate without thinking that maybe it was supposed to be a date rather than just a drink.

 _She's Ron's girl,_ he could hear George in his ear. _He better act on it soon or someone else will._ What if that someone else was his older brother? How would that go over? Would he replace Percy in the ranks of family betrayal?

 _It's just Hermione. It's Hermione Granger. Leave her be,_ his conscious yelled at him just it had the fates. _This girl has it hard enough just let her be._

Suddenly a familiar bob of hair came out of the Bathroom. "Katie!" He called, but she couldn't hear him. He waited to see if Hermione would follow, but she was nowhere in sight. He looked at the door where Hermione should emerge, and then the front door where Katie was leaving, _Dammit._

He couldn't explain why he felt compiled to go out the door, hoping he could catch Katie and call her inside. Or at least say hello and then go back to the table where Hermione and his' lunches should soon be coming out of Rosemerta's kitchens. They had been waiting a while now. Maybe Rosemerta was loosing her touch.

She had already turned the corner on High Street. Would Hermione have known he'd left but would be back? Maybe she thought he went to the loo to and would be joining her in a second. He didn't need to talk to Katie about a Quidditch schedule, he was friends with Harry, he could even ask Ron—but there was something off with both Katie and Hermione and he figured Katie would be the easier of the two to break.

The sleet was starting to pick up and he strained his eyes as he tried finding Katie in the misty, chilled air. There was a scream, not too far off. It wasn't the normal scream you'd hear in the village, one of fright followed by laughter, a friend pranking another or someone tripping and then coming up with " _I'm fine, don't worry about me I'm quite alright."_ This was a scream of dread. Of pain. The kind that you hoped you'd never end up hearing.

He looked in the direction of the scream and saw that it was close. He ran, He ran to the screamer and saw that it was Katie Bell, _his friend Katie,_ up six or so feet in the air, her arms outstretched. Ron and Harry were close behind him, their arms out stretched like his as though they too had come to help Katie.

She fell to the ground like a puppet cut from strings, and landed in Fred's arms. Harry and Ron stabilizing his shoulders and helping him to his feet in the snow banks.

" _Fred!"_ a voice carried in the wind, " _Fred—"_

He could register that Harry and Ron were asking Katie's friend Leanne what had gone wrong. He could even pick up words like "Opals" "Package" and "Wouldn't say."

But he also registered the word "bathroom." Katie's eyes were closed and she was still thrashing in his arms.

" _Fred"_ the voice called closer, There was Hermione, the wind tossing her hair to and fro, her cheeks red with cold and from running, She looked at Katie and looked crest fallen.

" _Katie,"_ she sighed as she got to his side, " _Oh Katie—"_

He looked at the girl in front of him, running towards him, and the girl that was shaking in his arms. _Hermione, what's going on?_ He wanted to ask, _What the bloody hell is going on?_

* * *

AN: Bright side: Fred and Hermione where temporarily reunited. Downside: Katie Bell still got cursed.

This is going to be very important for Hermione in the coming chapters, and it's also going to be something Fred keeps in mind throughout the story. Don't worry. All good things...or plot good things.

I'm sorry this chapter is so long, but I wanted to get Dumbledore and Hogsmeade in there. With a little bit of lovie dovie fluff. Next Chapter is going to be another big one for Hermione: Gryffindor's first game of the season and the after party that comes with it. Also, Fred will be in there as well, still processing Katie's 'accident' and wondering what's really in the book Hermione's writing. Thank you for all your love and support guys. You are what keep this story being published :)

Until next week~ KH


	12. Falling in Pieces

Chapter Twelve:

Falling in Pieces

Fred didn't care for St. Mungos.

Despite he and George's line of work, they never had injured themselves so badly where they would need to go to the Hospital. Mum had a little bit of Healer training she had picked up before she had eloped with dad. In fact, the only Weasley child to have spent time in St. Mungos was Charlie, who had a bad case of Dragon Pox when he was eight. But Charlie hadn't minded it too bad. He said it was the pox that made him want to handle dragons. If he could survive two weeks with the pox, what was a lifetime of fire?

The only time Fred had come to visit someone was his seventh year, last Christmas when no one knew if Mr. Weasley was going to make it through the night. He had yelled at an escaped Azkaban convict, he was almost certain he had called Sirius Black a coward that night. _I was angry then,_ he told himself. When they got to visit dad the next day it felt similar to the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts, the only difference being a lack of Madam Pomfrey's occasion outburst on policy and procedure.

He knew how Charlie's stay ended. He'd even see his dad walk out of the Hospital in time for Christmas dinner. What he didn't know was how Katie Bell was going to manage.

Fred had waited in the Hospital Wing as Madam Pomfrey stabilized her for the Healers. He had waited for Mr and Mrs Bell to come out of McGonagall's office and answer any questions they might have for him. No, he didn't know what had happened. No, there wasn't anyone lurking in the distance, no one he could see. He only seemed to create more questions but they didn't ask them. They were just glad he had been there. Mr Bell worked at the shop down the Alley, he would stop in and check on the boys when they were first starting up. Mrs Bell had come to watch them play Quidditch their fifth year when they won the cup. If anything, he was just a stabilizing presence for the Bells as part of their world fell apart. Katie's older brother Jasper was to meet them at St Mungos and take over from there, but until that moment, Fred was their son.

The Former Quidditch team had rallied around her in the first few weeks of her stay. Even Oliver was able to swing by after Puddlemoore had a break in the schedule. Prior to Harry joining, Katie Bell had been the baby of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, selected by Charlie to be his replacement as Chaser. Small and lean, with a tendency to dart through the air, she had earned the nickname Imp. She had a self-confidence you didn't see among first years trying out for the team; it wasn't arrogance, she just _believed_ she was good enough to take up Charlie's mantle. Charlie had made George and him swear to keep her in the air as beaters. It was a promise they had kept. Oliver would occasionally get whacked. They probably let the Keeper get whacked down to earth most. But the girls—Angelina, Alicia and Katie—they had always been able to keep them safe.

Until now anyway.

He came to the Hospital on a drizzly afternoon. Dementors were at it again, or perhaps it was actually foggy. He couldn't tell which was which anymore. He was starting to believe the sun never shown in London. It was just mist and damp weather.

She was still unconscious. The Healers said it was a magical coma where her mind would be able to heal any damage done by the Opals. She was in a Semi-Private Ward. Dividers blocking her off from others sight, which was probably a good thing. Fred doubted other people didn't have a team of visitors tracing through every week or a built up offering of flowers and Joke Shop gifts sitting at her night side table, beckoning her to wake up. They actually had to ask the Healers to let her have a second table because there was so much stuff building up on the sides.

"Hullo Katie," he said, changing out the dying flowers for some fresh ones, "It's a cold day in London and not a patch of blue sky in sight," he said sitting in the chair the Healers had left, "Don't worry you aren't missing anything."

She just lay there. Which was what people did while in comas, he learned. They just laid there and let medicine put them together again. It was supposed to give her body the rest to recoup and she'd come out the same Katie Bell as the one who went to bed the night before the fateful Hogsmeade trip.

He envied her in ways. Pending how long she slept, she could miss the entire war. There had been more deaths in the _Prophet_ , no one he knew yet, but he knew it was only a matter of time before that changed. He was a part of the Order of the Phoenix. He expected death. He didn't look forward to it, but he didn't out rule it either. It was easier to take things when they were expected than when they suddenly crashed down in front of someone.

 _Like Hermione crashing to the ground when she saw you,_ he thought looking at Katie, bedridden. She looked smaller in the white sheets than she actually was. Small and fragile- _Like Hermione looking guilt ridden before she even made it to where we were._

If there was anyone that could benefit from a coma, a time out from the hustles and bustles of the war, it was Hermione Granger.

The Healers had said that with Katie, they had the option to induce the magical coma or not. How sometimes they chose not to if the patient was assumed stable and the damage minimal. He didn't know what had happened at the Department of Mysteries, but with the Aftermath he had seen, he was hating the healer that decided Hermione didn't deserve a time out.

Because something was the matter with Granger.

He took at his wand and waved the curtain closed, muttering " _Muffilato_ " to make the little bay where Katie slept sound proof. "I need to talk to someone Katie," he explained, scooting his chair closer to the bed. " Particularly, to someone who won't repeat what I say" he winked, "I need to talk this out and make some sense. Can you hear me out?"

He skipped the silence. No need to wait for a response. Fred was the talker, George was the listener. He had the ears for it. He knew he could be having this conversation with his twin and get _actual_ advice, but something didn't seem right about that idea either.

"She hasn't been herself lately," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "She's keeping secrets from Harry and Ron. I suppose that's not as big a deal, she's seventeen years old and friends with the emotionally unaware Ronald Weasley. 'Suppose she has to keep something to herself—but it doesn't feel like its school girl secrets. It seems bigger."

He could remember the specifications she gave him on the journal. Something that would allow only the writer to access it. Something she needed to keep from Harry and Ron. _And the extra security charms she had him put on it—_ he had to look up a few of them. _Protego Maxima, Protego Totalum, Fianto duri_ —those were the trinity of protection spells. _I made the book as secure and as indestructible as humanly possible. It would take quite the offense to break through those barriers._

 _She never said why she needed it—_ he had asked her as much and she started looking off in the distance, getting lost in her thoughts behind those eyes, he _gave_ her an answer. Told her she could have a diary if she needed it. Fred wondered if she had made her own model now. The only thing that had kept her from doing so over the summer was the trace. But she had turned 17, that wouldn't get in her way again.

"But it's more than the journal Imp," he said turning to the sleeping Katie. "The way she looks at people is unnerving. Everyone else seems like their not noticing, but—" he lowered his voice, "She looks at George like he's in pain. She'll ask if he needs anything—I know that doesn't mean something's up, but its unsettling. Its like she thinks something bad's going to happen to him and I can't have—"

He stopped. His throat suddenly felt dry. Over the summer, when he and George had had the spat over whether or not to run from the Death Eaters, Hermione had asked what his death would mean to his family. She even asked about George individually. He had told her they'd go together, but God forbid, _what if that didn't happen_. What if George left him behind? What if he were the only living Weasley twin? He felt a chill in the air. It was as though a Dementor had crept out of the fog and found its way to this ward. _What would he do if George died?_ They never planned this out. They had strictly agreed not to when the war started again. Other people would focus on dying they'd said, they would focus on living.

"George can't die, he' can't." he said simply, and then looked at his comatose friend, "Well, at least not without Angelina's permission. I figure she'd have quite the bit to say about him dying without her consent."

He closed his eyes and relived the scene as he had every day since Katie's accident. It had been just the two of them, bantering over their Butterbeer. Her mood seemed to drop when he asked about Ron and he found out about their latest fight. Those two knew how to destroy each other with turn of phrase. But when he had told her it'd get better—how they could ask Katie about Quidditch after she got out of the loo—

"She's been acting suspicious, something definitely off that she's not telling anyone about. When I told her we'd have to talk to you about Quidditch it was as though she went from night to day; she followed you before I could get my words out. I thought she was going to trip she was walking so quick—"

He had asked her over the summer if she was a Death Eater. It had just been a jest, one that she had responded with near comical laughter. But something wasn't adding up. When she reached his side following the accident, she blamed her self. She said it was all her fault. He acted as though he didn't hear, he was stabilizing Katie's head so she wouldn't hurt herself while Harry and Ron called in the distance for Hagrid. She kept on muttering to herself, he couldn't make out all the words in the rippling wind and sleet, but he could have sworn he'd heard "different" and "forgetting" before she shut up and helped him.

"Katie, did Hermione curse you?" he asked, the words sounding crazier out loud then they had when they floated in his head. It sounded insane. Hermione Granger, Death Eater. Maybe she wasn't one of them, maybe someone had cursed Hermione and she was acting outside her free will, but even then members of the Order were watching those three night and day, when would a Death Eater have had the chance.

 _It's the only thing that makes sense,_ he told himself. He'd write to Dumbledore himself. He'd need to know what was wrong and how he and would be able to fix it. He'd find a way to rescue his friend. After everyone she had helped save through the years, it was his turn to save Hermione.

((*))

Hermione hadn't slept much since Katie Bell's accident.

 _You swore you were going to do things different,_ she had nagged herself. _Instead, you go out for lunch with Fred Weasley and stand on the sidelines while Katie Bell gets packed up to St. Mungos again._

She hadd remembered earlier that week what was going to happen. She had made a little note in the margins of her journal that this was the only Hogsmeade trip for the year on account of Katie Bell getting cursed by Opals. She had even brainstormed how she could stop it from happening. She had made new gloves that went past the wrists ever so slightly that would prevent Katie from getting grazed by the exposed package. Or better yet, she could run interference and stop the package from even reaching Katie. Camp out in the girls bathroom and wait for Rosemerta. If she broke the curse now, Ron would never be threatened. She'd have thrown Malfoy's plan off track, who knew when he'd be able to curse another person. She could save them all.

But she had forgotten all of that when she got to Hogsmeade. The carriage ride she had thought about the memories she had relived with Dumbledore. She had remembered parts of her childhood and family memories long forgotten—it had to have been a decade since she remembered her imaginary friend Nora—and then there was the memory she had fabricated, of saving Fred Weasley. That had weighed on her mind the entire journey. How she wasn't going to let him disappear in a wall of rubble. She had disappeared in the wall of snow to bring him home. He was going to live. So he could continue making people laugh. He was going to live so his twin would live a normal, happy, healthy life. He was going to live so he could make her laugh when he tried to disguise himself with an amulet and hair charm.

 _Fred Weasley would live,_ that had been the mantra everything inside of her had chanted that afternoon. Fred Weasley would live to snoop around shops. He would live to open his own shop in Hogsmeade. He would live so her seventh year they could meet up again for drinks at the Three Broomsticks. It was nonnegotiable. Fred Would live. It would have a different ending.

But Katie Bell would also have a different ending. Or at least, she had intended she would.

When they returned to the castle, McGonagall had spoken with the four of them. Seeing Fred, the old Transfiguration teacher had smiled and, after dismissing the three of them, had told Fred to stick around so he could answer any questions the Bells would have about their daughter's accident. Hermione had wanted to stay behind too and say goodbye, but he been shaken by the accident. He hadn't made eye contact with Harry, or Ron. She turned around before she left and wished him goodbye. He had turned around and winked, but had stayed to talk with McGonagall.

 _McGonagall should be happy if she knew you kept to your timeline,_ a voice told her, _but Fred would be furious if he knew the only reason Katie was still injured was because you took lunch with him rather then did your lavatory stake out._

And the Katie Bell debacle was just the tip of the iceberg.

Her sixth year hadn't been this hard before, because everything was candid. Hermione was very good at being candid. She reacted to the situation live placed in front of her. But repeating the past was proving difficult, especially events surrounding Ron.

She hadn't remembered Ron being so difficult to deal with the first time around. Their sixth year was by far the most challenging the two of them had faced together. _But that was mainly Lavender_. She knew that was coming, but she hadn't noticed how hostile he had been in the weeks before he left her standing at the door of the Common Room watching the Gryffindor Quidditch Victory party.

They had been beginning to reconcile before Hogsmeade. He was being helpful again, polite. It was kind of attractive, the polite Ron. He wasn't as stubborn, he was more forgiving. He was complementary too. And he'd do little things , like rolling his eyes to her every time Harry started going on the _Malfoy's-a-Death-Eater_ campaign, or he'd complement her spell work. He had even apologized the morning of the Hogsmeade trip for being a git about her friendship with Fred.

But seeing her and his brother at Hogsmeade must have been the tipping point because she was back on his short list. It was as though he had reverted to their third year when he was shunning her first for the Firebolt and later Scabbers.

When she had been on his bad side before, she had put on the brave face and just rolled with it. She hadn't yelled at him when he had been cold to her. She had hoped that he'd get the anger through his system and then come back and apologize again and they'd start over again.

Maybe it was he foul mood, maybe it was the failure of not being able to save Katie, but she wasn't sporting the brave face and she wasn't taking Ron's actions quietly. When he had suggested she take McClaggen to the Slug Club Christmas party, something snapped inside. Before she had remembered how last time she had said she had planned to ask him but if she'd rather she go with McClaggen she'd see to it. When he made the same accusation that day in Herbology she had snapped just like the Snaragluff pod they had been working on.

"Oh I'm sure you'd like that wouldn't you," She had said, up to her elbow in the sap coming from the now immobile pod, "Lucky for me that I don't have to ask for your permission or anything Ronald Weasley."

"So who are you going to take if not McClaggen eh?" he'd asked " If you want to keep up your tradition of fraternizing with the enemy, you could always ask Malfoy. Maybe by the end of the night you'd be able to tell Harry if there was a Dark Mark on him or not."

His words were so harsh and so unexpected that she didn't know how to react. It was like the air had been blown out of her. "You are an unmitigated and comprehensive ass Ronald," she swore, as she gathered her books and threw him her bag, storming out of the greenhouse. Not listening to anyone or anything behind her.

That was the third time Ron had done that to her, taken the air out of her and left her to wonder what her reflex would be. The first time he had done that was when she crawled into the Portrait hole, ready to apologize for the whole Felix Felicies episode. She was going to tell him he was a good athlete, that he didn't need it and she only acted the way she did because she held him and Harry to better than what she had expected. But instead she had seen him kissing that cow who would make her year hell.

The other time was when he walked out and left her. Well, he had left Harry too, but she had taken in as a direct lost. When she had followed him out in the camp only to see him disappear, knowing he wouldn't be able to come back.

Each time had been a betrayal. Each had been stronger then the last. _This hadn't happened last time,_ she could argue. She could have screamed this from the Astronomy Tower, going that some eavesdropping god would hear her cry and fix it. Last time, it was different. She had been kinder and she had more or less invited him to be her guest at the party. Now, the hell if she didn't write Victor Krum and invite him to her little school dinner party, anything to make Ron hurt like she hurt right now.

She had walked out ten minutes early. She doubted Professor Sprout wouldn't notice. That's another thing the other Hermione wouldn't have done. She would have been kind to Ron, made nice, and stayed in class.

But the other Hermione hadn't been coupled with Malfoy.

She had acted rashly. She was better than this. But Ron had a talent of being able to build her up or tare her down with a string of words. It had been like that before the war, and it had been that way after the war. In the seven months of the relationship she and Ron had before her accident with time, he hadn't torn her down as much as when the were at school—but they had also only spent three months together before she had gone back to Hogwarts _leaving him_ behind with Harry.

She had turned to the library for her free period that afternoon. She needed to cool her head. And of course, Harry found her there.

"Can we talk?" he asked, not long after sitting himself at the table where her books were sprawled.

"Have you become Ronald's owl?" she asked when they got in corridor near the library. It was one of her favorite corridors, isolated, no one usually taking this entrance into the library. She liked it because it had a view of the grounds and the lake that she couldn't get from Gryffindor tower. On a nice day, you could see the hill that overlook the lake. But the weather was turning again. They'd be lucky if they had nice weather for the Quidditch game. _But oh, how they'd be lucky. . ._

"He feels bad for saying what he did," Harry sighed, leaning against the wall and looking out the storm below them. " Doesn't mean you should forgive him right away though, I chewed him out plenty for that. Git of a thing to say."

She leaned against the wall next to Harry. "Why would he say something like this?" she asked, surprised by how small her voice was. "There are days where he's my best friend and days when he hurts more than saying ' _mudblood'_."

Harry shrugged, "He hasn't been himself lately, that's all," he tried. "I think seeing you and Fred together has made him jealous."

" _We're not together,"_ she hissed, "I came into to Hogsmeade and I saw him outside of Zonkos. I was going to come look for you two when he suggested we get something to eat!"

"And I get that, but," Harry seemed to be struggling with words, "You know how Ron is. Especially when it comes to his brothers. He gets jealous."

"He gets idiotic," Hermione corrected. "Fred's my friend, is he trying to tell me that I can't be friends with his brother?"

"I think he's trying to tell you something else," Harry said, "If its what I think it is, then it needs to come from him and not me. But I think your sudden friendship with Fred is what's keeping him from saying it."

 _Did Harry see it before we did?_ she wondered and then stopped herself. Of course she did. All the teachers had. But she had never supposed Harry had. He'd been oblivious to so much, she thought he had been oblivious to this too.

But what he was saying, that in order to get on the course to the kiss in the midst of the final battle, she'd have to abandon Fred all together, that seemed too rich. That seemed like a trade off she didn't want to make. Hermione Granger didn't do ultimatums. Least of all ones from Weasleys.

"Sometimes I wonder if it's worth it," she muttered out loud, the past and present mixing in a cocktail of memories. She had said this before, to Ginny, when in her seventh year Ron had been rude to Justin Fletch-Fletchy when he had complemented her in front of him at Hogsmeade. She had scolded him for that later when it was the two of them. She had told him that she made her own choices, and she had chosen him, not Justin. But she still talked to Ginny about it that night. Ginny had but her arm around Hermione and said that _'Ron is never worth it, but if your worth it to Him, he'll listen."_ She wished that Ginny was here again. She needed someone to take the helm for her right now.

"You're happiness is worth it," Harry said simply, looking at her and giving a lopsided smile, "Devils Advocate, you know Ron. Jealousy and Pride are his fatal flaws. But he's fiercely loyal. He has that going for him."

The first Quidditch game of the season was this Saturday. She wondered how that loyalty argument would work for Harry then.

"I have to finish an essay Harry," Hermione said standing up from the wall. She walked back towards the library door but stopped for a minute, turning around again to say "Tell Sir Ronald Loyal Heart that I don't take back anything I said today. I know his pride was injured, but my pride is worth more."

((*))

Saturday morning rolled the same as it had before.

She had come into the Great Hall just as she had before, stopping midway up the Gryffindor table when she saw Harry 'spike' Ron's drink with the Felix Felicies. She had called him out, whispering through gritted teeth when she accused him of it. He had whispered back about her confounding Cormac. And then, she did as she had done before and stormed out of the Great Hall and then running back to the Common Room.

When she got back to the tower, Lavender and Paravati were leaving the Portrait Hole. Both of them dressed with their Gryffindor Scarfs, she noticed a smudge of a Quaffle painted on Lavenders cheek. She made eye contact with Hermione and whispered something quickly to Paravati whose eyes seemed to double in size. _The hell with you both,_ Hermione screamed in her mind. She brushed them off, running up the stairs to her room.

She grabbed the book from her trunk and jumped to the page she had worked on the other night, checking her actions as she went.

She had wondered why she was so gun ho on letting Ron and Lavender get together still. She knew she could have prevented it.

It didn't take long for her to come up reasons why she _should_ let it happen. She didn't have the time to have a relationship with Ron this year. This year and most of next she'd be busy trying to save all of their lives. If they had one, how would that change things when they were on the run? If they got together now, would he still leave? Would they have broken up? And then what? Would they be able to get together again as Harry and Ginny had?

If she was trying to save all their lives, she couldn't have the distraction that Ron would be. At least not yet.

She shoved the book in her trunk and grabbed her own scarf. She wasn't going to watch the game. She wasn't going to watch the game where Ron would get over confident, leading the Gryffindor's a verse of Weasley is our king. She didn't want to.

She kept her day's timeline in her head, she _had_ to go to the dressing room after the game and accuse them of cheating with Felix Felicies. She _had_ to argue with them, and have Ron argue with her to the point she stormed off. And then she _had_ to walk into the Tower and then run away again.

She sat next to Hagrid's during the game. He was gone, but she could sit with Fang, sitting on the back step.

When Hogwarts was hosting the funerals for the fallen, Ron Weasley had gone to several. He had sat in the one for Remus and Tonks, and he had been under the marquee for family only when they buried his brother. He had attended Nigel and Colin's, and he had sat in the very back for another one. For Lavender's.

She knew, she had gone with him. _They were roommates_ , she needed to go. They had fought about it. Not their usual sort of row, but they had argued all the same. Hermione saying they were roommates, it would look bad if she didn't make an effort to go. Ron saying that she and Lavender hated each other so much the last year they were roommates, the body might start rolling in its coffin if it knew she was there.

She had won and the two of them sat, fuming at the other silently, in the back of the Great Hall. When the time came in the service, for them to file past the casket, Hermione had gone first, placing a rose in the casket but not making contact with the body held there. She didn't need to see the mangled face that had been Lavender. She didn't need to see the shadow of the bubbly girl with golden hair. She need to bury all memories of her with the body so she'd be able to look back at the name with a sad recollection of the girl who hadn't made it.

She had dropped her flower and was almost back to her seat until she noticed Ron had stopped in front of the casket and was still standing there. He held some small, golden necklace in his hand and was putting it in with Lavender.

After the funeral they argued about what he had given her. It was only when she spoke to Harry he had told her about the necklace she had sent him for Christmas that year. It made her feelings sit like a Quaffle on her chest.

He never spoke about Lavender after the funeral. Even if she jabbed him for something related to their sixth year, he'd usually give up. He'd never bring up Lavender being a better kisser, or a better girlfriend. He locked her up as though she didn't exist after the funeral.

 _How would it be different now that she had sworn to save her_ , she wondered. How would Lavender factor into her and Ron's post war love affair?

The chorus of _Weasley is our King_ played in the air. She took out her wand and conjured three golden birds into the air, watching how they flew into small, merry circles as they took off into the fall air.

The game would be over soon. She needed to leave. She needed to get this all over with.

AN:

I'm so sorry any typos or grammar errors, I did a quick sweep but you all know how well that goes. Never shorten your editing time—my words of wisdom to you all—

Also compared to last chapter, slightly angst-y but I thought necessary. It's going to be part of something bigger; and we FINALLY have Ron and Lavender getting together. I know I shouldn't be happy about that but I am. That means I can start having fun : )

Next chapter the family finds out about Lavender, as well as Hermione and Dumbledore having another meeting. . . Fred's theories of Hermione's well being is going to continue a little while longer.

I also wanted to thank you all for your support of this story. I haven't gotten to reply to all your reviews for the last chapter yet, but I genuinely appreciate your feedback and support. I am glad you are enjoying this story and hope that this chapter, as angsty and words as it was, was satisfying to you all.

Until next week,

KH


	13. Falling For

Falling For

* * *

Fred awoke the next morning to the sound of an owl's claw scratching against the window.

" _Mum—"_ he growled, chucking his pillow against the frame, jiggling it slightly. He curled to his side and pulled the covers as far up as they would go, not quite covering his hair. The scratching continued, now with a renewed annoyance from the owl.

He opened his eyes and supposed that it was about nine. Not super early, but earlier than he normally woke up on a Sunday. The shop would open in the afternoon from twelve to four. In full honesty there wasn't near as many customers. They just kept it open as a courtesy to those who braved an afternoon in the alley. With that, he still had another hour, _hell—_ another hour and a half before he had to get out of bed.

He did the calculations in his head and he supposed that if it was his mother who was behind the post, she had written this letter at three in the morning. It was that or it was a loaner bird and it had gotten lost. He supposed it was the first and the letter had come to tell him his prat of a brother Percy had been offed by a Death Eater. Fred was slightly ashamed that was his first thought, even more so that _that_ was his reaction.

Before Percy had gone to Hogwarts, he had been one of the three big brothers he and George looked up too. Percy was the know it all, but the know it all who would use his knowledge to help his younger two brothers skate around their parents. It was only when he was at Hogwarts, when he had to live in the shadows of Head Boy Bill and Quidditch Captain Charlie that he developed his big-head personality that Fred believed had lead him to being so eager to advance in the ministry. He had wanted to develop his own identity, which wasn't the least bit easy when you blended in like bland porridge amongst the Weasleys. He and George hadn't made it easier for him, standing out as the Pranksters. Or Ron, who despite his own perceptions was the laid back friend of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Identity crisis or not, Percy's betrayal had deeply raddled Fred. If you couldn't trust the brother who had once helped you sneak a gnome into the kitchen, who could you trust? He had seen the blow between his dad and Percy, it took a lot to get Dad that livid, but he understood why. It was the same reason most families went dark together. Family was Family. And you were supposed to stand by them no matter what. If Fred could understand this, why couldn't Percy? Why did he have to think he was right and leave them?

He opened the window and swore as the owl knicked his shoulder. He tore open the letter and did a quick scan. It wasn't his mother's handwriting. And Percy was nowhere in the letter. He'd have another chance to think of what his reaction _would be_ should his brother ever die before they reconciled like mum believed they would. No, from his first initial scan there was another brother's name, and one who _he_ would be wanting to kill.

The traditional loops of Ginny's handwriting were far more jagged than normal. In fact, she wrote with such force in her quill, he was surprised that she hadn't punctured the parchment.

 _Fred—_

 _Well you did it. Either you did it or he was an idiot enough to do it himself._

 _I came back from the Quidditch lockers yesterday after the game and there was the traditional after party. Seamus has take up your role of knicking things out of the kitchens. Right as the party gets started, Dean pulls on my elbow and leans his head over to where Ron was standing. Or had been standing. He was sitting next to Lavender—she's their year. Golden hair, blank face, nothing in-between the ears—They start talking and then out of no where she kisses him. You know Ron has the will power of ghoul, he started snogging her. In the Common Room._

 _So either you gave him the potion to spike her drink or he actually did it himself. Regardless, please be advised that I will not be taking any relationship flack from that fat hypocrite. Or yourself if you are behind all of this. If this is your doing I hope you're happy. I just found Hermione sleeping in the Library with her scarf wrapped over her book like a make shift pillow. Hell of a year she's going to have if this potion doesn't ware off. Please tell mum it'll only be Harry joining us for Christmas this year._

Her signature was still jagged, and she had actually punctured the parchment as she dotted her 'I'. It was so brief he read it a second time to process it, and then a third time to try and put it all together. And by the fourth time, he wondered why she hadn't tried to make her own howler. Mum's was terrifying. Ginny's would have even Lucius Malfoy diving behind Bellatrix.

He could remember Lavender Brown. She had been in the DA with them last year. She was prettier than Ginny had painted her in the letter, but a different sort of pretty. She was the type of girl that would have flocked to the centaur's divination class and stayed outside after hours trying to weave the perfect boyfriend out of the stars.

The sky must have been dim if she was content snogging Ron.

 _Ron was snogging Lavender?_ he thought He couldn't remember the two ever talking. That didn't say he had forgotten how Lavender would look at his younger brother in their DA classes. But Ron? Maybe the occasional jab, heaven knew Ron was good at those, but Fred would never had but the two together. Because, for better or for worse, he thought Ron liked Hermione.

He read it again and focused on the last few sentences. There was a pleasant feeling spreading throughout his chest that was centered on the fact she wasn't with Ron. That it was some other girl. Ron had made his decisions and for some reason, had decided on Lavender. Not Hermione. He should have put a raffle in on the two of them and bet against it and make a small fortune off his family members and the Hogwarts staff.

But then he thought of Hermione. _Sleeping in the Library with the scarf wrapped around the book as a make shift pillow—_ as quick as it had appeared, the pleasant feeling in his chest was now angry. Like a little monster ready to pounce on his brother for his sins. _She's roommates with the girl, this isn't going to be easy for her._ Part of him wanted to send Ron a howler and let it fall as it should, make things right. Maybe Ron needed to be yelled at during breakfast to make it all right. He'd leave that for mum. After all, he still hadn't gotten a reply from Dumbledore. Merlin forbid if Hermione was under the use of the Imperious Curse and this had happened. _Then again, whose to say she won't use an unforgiveable if this keeps up._

Had she cried? _No, this is Hermione, she's tough as nails,_ he told himself although he didn't actually believe it. She had probably cried. Angry tears. Like the ones from the Yuel Ball. " _Why does Ron have to go ruin everything"_ still ringing in his ears.

 _If Ron's already blowed it , why don't you step in there?_ he thought to himself. _No—certainly not. She wouldn't—_

For a moment though, say that she would. Say that Hermione Granger could quite possibly fancy him, he could almost imagine it.

She wouldn't be coming by the Burrow this Christmas, with Ron having right and properly broken her heart. So he'd show up on her doorstep one morning with a little purple box with orange wrappings. She'd be so surprised she'd invite him and they'd have a talk. Mrs. Granger would invite him in for breakfast. They'd spend a day where ever she lived doing muggle-couple things, making snow men and warming themselves by the fire while drinking the butter beer he'd bring. The smell of lilacs creeping up his nose as she fell asleep with her head on his chest. That wouldn't be too bad. A cross he could bare. And when she had to go back to school, he'd see her off on the train. Maybe he'd kiss her this time, take her by surprise—but it'd be a pleasant surprise.

He and George had been looking at muggle fairy tales they could incorporate into their line for Muggleborns—if their research was true, the true love's kiss could break any spell—maybe that would break the imperious curse. Wasn't love supposed to be the strongest of all?

 _But she doesn't fancy you, she fancies Ron,_ an annoying voice that sounded like Percy went off in his head. _The boy she fancies is with another girl, what do you think she'd do if you kissed her? Do her own bat bogey hex?_

"Fred!" his brother's voice rang from the kitchen, "Fred, come 'ere!"

He looked at the little clock near his bed to confirm hat it was indeed before ten in the morning and George was calling for him. He pulled his sweater over his head and threw another biscuit at the owl perched precariously over his bed before he crossed the room into the main flat.

The flat over the shop was small, but it served their needs. There were the two bedrooms that they had half heartedly used, still falling asleep down in the work room more than they ever did upstairs. There was a large closet or small bed room—they called it the spare— that was on the other side of the flat—where they stored merchandise not yet ready for down stairs. A small kitchenette opened to a larger living area and breakfast nook that would host the occasional gathering of Angelina, Lee, and Alicia. The nook was empty, save for George, his hair up in its traditional bed head cow lick, who was looking down at his own letter.

"Why did Ginny write us separate letters?" Fred asked as he walked over to his brother.

"Ginny?" George looked up, "No this is from Lee. Apparently his Uncle's giving him his old Radio set and he wants to know if he can store it in the spare room for now. That alright with you?"

Fred smacked his brother upside the head, "You got me out of bed early on a Sunday to ask about a Radio Set older than the both of us? Are you barking?"

"But this is a _magical_ Radio Set. He used it during the war to send Transmissions between the continent with Grindelwald on the move," George protested, scandalized at his brother's lack of interest. "Maybe there's rebel stations— maybe there's other resistances, people like the Order. Think what we could pick up"

"I'll tell you what _I_ could have picked up," Fred scoffed, "Two more hours of sleep."

"Oh knock it off, I heard you swear from your room, figured you were already up," his brother waved off, he looked slightly annoyed now. The Radio was out of his mind, Fred could see that clear as day. There was something else now, "But, what did sister dearest write to you about? And why didn't I get a note."

"Ron's being an ass," Fred answered, tossing him the letter to read. "And as a result Ginny will no longer harken to any of our dating advice as Ronald is, in her words, a bloody hypocrite."

George gave the letter a quick one over and then another, "Ron and Lavender? Really?" he asked. "When literally everyone in the family thought he fancies Granger, he actually fancies _her_?"

Fred gave a shrug before opening a cabinet and pulling out a roll and jar of marmalade, "Apparently everyone in the family except Ron himself."

"Too bad about Hermione," Fred continued, " I was thinking about putting together one of those Bad Day boxes we were talking about marketing. You know, a quick pick me up."

George looked suspiciously over the top of the letter, "Is that so?"

"I know she fancies those sugar quills, we could get her some of those. And maybe a few daydream fancies—a pygmy puff—I know we were saving those novelty necklaces for Christmas but maybe a small pendent wouldn't be a bad idea either. My Time Line products are still in testing—"

"What exactly is going on with you and Miss Granger," George asked, his eye brow now raised in pure suspicion, "If I didn't know any better I'd say you were almost happy Ron had fallen out of fancy with her—"

"Course not—" he lied. He never lied to George. At least not openly and there were reasons why. If anyone could call him out on a bluff, it was always his brother.

"Right," George said idly. "Just as well. You probably wouldn't want to send her a bad day box then. If she's sleeping in library books over her _friend_ actually hurting her, she'd be a right mess over being led on by the guy she actually cared for."

"Right—" Fred said automatically as the words sunk in. _George knew? How the devil could George know, he wasn't even sure if he knew yet._ "Wait—"

"Merlin's beard, you do like her," George said incredulously, " I wasn't sure this summer—but figured you wouldn't mess with her and Ron."

"Apparently there isn't anything going on between her and Ron so there's nothing to mess with." Fred said as he returned to spreading the marmalade over the roll. " We're friends, she's in distress. I'm making her a bad day box."

"You're making her a ' _Pick the better brother'_ box," George laughed, as he too grabbed something from the cupboard for breakfast. "She's not a bad choice really," George started, "And you know I've had a feeling this was coming for a while now. You really liked teasing her our sixth year—"

Fred looked at his brother confused, "But I liked Ange our sixth year, remember?"

"I do remember that, but " George snapped his fingers and burner under the tea kettle turned on, "I also remember you stealing a dance with her after Ron and Harry had snuck off somewhere."

He had forgotten that. He supposed she had too. Didn't really matter much did it? But he could remember it now. She was just the girl who shared a room with his sister all summer. She had looked annoyed, he had said something to the effect that the only reason she should be annoyed is that he asked Ange and not her. That had made her smirk. His brothers mate, all grown up. And now, she was the woman who—what had she done? Lodged herself in his head like a catchy song?

"Make her a bad day box Freddie but remember, and if your forget you can ask Ron" George started, "There's nothing worse than leading on a Granger."

* * *

((*))

* * *

If Hermione had remembered, when she woke up in the Hospital Wing a second time after the Department of Mysteries, how hellacious a year with Lavender and Ronald had been she would have demanded to be catapulted to the future, consequences be damned.

She had claimed the library as her sanctuary. She could find a desk in there and wait until the Junior Dementors League stopped their search for each others souls and went to bed. The only silver lining she could find was the fact that Lavender was pretty strict about an early bedtime. She could sneak back into the common room around eleven and return to her dorm with both Paravati and Lavender sleeping—or faking it at lest until she was out for the night.

 _But it was so much easier last time,_ she wanted to yell to the gods from the astronomy tower. Last time, she could burry herself in homework. She did her assignments, but everything was so _simple_ compared to the assignments she had been completing before the accident. Non-Verbals was child's play. She would finish her assignments, go through them a time or two and then just sit, in the Library, waiting for the clock to chime eleven so she could return to Gryffindor Tower.

But she didn't just sit.

Since Katie's accident, she had combed through the library, looking for anything related to the Fixed Points Dumbledore had spoken about. Had Katie's accident been a fixed point? And if so, Why? What was so important about poor Katie Bell getting cursed in Hogsmeade?

She figured the only topic more narrowly recorded was Horcruxes, because her search had only brought two small books, _The Rassilon Chronicles_ and _Harkness' Face of Eternity_ but even for someone as well read as Hermione, she couldn't quite grasp what these books were saying. Time was fluid, but there were instances where events were set in stone. In particular, events that would have catastrophic down stream repercussions, and usually was left to the seasoned time traveler to discern which was which.

So far she had only come up with a string of 'What ifs'.' If she had been successful in saving Katie and Rosmerta, she would have thwarted Malfoy's plan and he wouldn't have been able to sneak the poison into the school. Ron wouldn't have been poisoned and in turn, would have either had to continue in his relationship with Lavender, or end it himself. But Malfoy would've turned desperate. He'd have to find a way to kill Dumbledore. What if he actually did it? What if he succeeded before Snape could intervene? But more importantly, what if he failed and _he_ was killed by Voldemort.

The Elder Wand would have died with Dumbeldore.

Malfoy had his faults. She could list them in any preferred order. He had declared a vendetta against her from their first day at Hogwarts. _But the war—_

In the War, she thought anyways, that Malfoy came to as close to good as he could possibly have. He hadn't told his parents and Bellatrix it was them right away when they were brought to the manor. He had spared them, he had drawn it out, not to torture them, but because he didn't want to reveal them. Or so she thought, you could never tell with him.

If Malfoy died, who would had been brought in to identify them? Dean? Luna? They would have recognized them on sight, and their reactions would have betrayed them. Pettigrew—he might be drawn to buy them some time, but he couldn't hold his own for long against Bellatrix Lestrange.

 _They would have called Voldemort—we would have been dead on arrival, all three of them._

In full honesty, playing the 'What if' Game made Hermione's head feel as though it could explode.

Which was why she had a sense of relief when a third year from Hufflepuff nervously handed Her Professor Dumbeldore's summons for another lesson to take place that evening.

Harry noticed the letter as the third year left her desk in the Library. Eyeing the parchment he whispered, "You're meeting with Dumbeldore as well? Why?"

"It has something to do with what happened in the Department of Mysteries," Hermione whispered back "Never you mind—"

But that wasn't enough for Harry. "What happened? Does it have to do with the accident?"

Hermione was growing to dislike the use of the word _accident._ It wasn't an accident—a Death Eater purposely attacked her resulting in immediate knock out and the failure of her spleen. He didn't _accidentally_ recite an incantation that would leave her in a Hospital Wing bed taking a dozen potions a day for nearly two months.

" _Shhh—"_ Madam Pince glared from where she stood returning books, _"This is a library not a corridor!"_

Harry got up and pulled Hermione's shoulder, as they exited for a moment to the far corridor in the back where they had spoken earlier.

It was still empty, classes would switch again for another few minutes. She had, unfortunately, time for a full Harry Inquisition.

"You have to meet Dumbledore because of the accident?" he missed the word a second time, "Are you ok? Did the potions not work—"

"I'm fine Harry. Truly," she lied. It wasn't a real lie. She _was_ in fact the picture of health. And to top if off she had time traveled before so she hadn't gone through the shock that usually comes with it. But that was a lie too. Who wasn't shocked to wake up two years in the past?

"Are you though Hermione?" he asked suspiciously, "You're always in the library—'

"I've _always been_ just in the library," she answered annoyed. " _He_ has nothing to do with where I am." Now that was a lie. One she was pretty sure even Harry could pick up.

He looked at her with little belief in her words. But his face soon twisted to one or annoyance when a booming voice called from down the Corridor, "Harry! Hermione! Splendid!"

She turned around to see Professor Slughorn, waddling around the corridor with a wide smile on his face," It's so good to see you outside of class," Professor Slughorn smiled, "Why, I was just talk to Miss Granger about how happy I was we were able to snag you for the Christmas Party," Slughorn beamed, "Yes, haven't been able to make it to all my little parties, but we'll make it to the ones that matter most."

Harry gave a half smile as though he isn't quite sure if he should be excited or in pain. "Who are you hosting for the club that night Professor? Have you thought of a guest?"

"Oh yes, I'm working on that as we speak—" The Professor said in all seriousness, waving a letter now in his hands. "I had a pupil who has befriended a Vampire, he may bring his friend as a guest. But then Miss Weasley has also suggested her elder brothers, you know the entrepreneurs, pay a visit. A little more lighthearted entertainment I'd say."

"Would Filtch let them through the front door?" Harry asked and Slughorn laughed, "We could probably make an arrangement."

Hermione highly doubted that the old Caretaker would take kindly to Fred and George returning, even if it was just for an evening Christmas Party. But she couldn't explain or hold back the giddy feeling when she thought they could be back. Even just for that little time.

"You would love seeing Fred and George at work sir," she said, her voice sounding Happier than it had since Ron and Lavender started snogging. "Ask Professor Flitwick, what they can do with charms is mesmerizing, isn't that right Harry?"

"Just ask them to not bring the swamp," Harry said uneasily, "And see if you can get a room with a higher ceiling. Then they're unstoppable."

Professor Slughorn smiled and looked at the two of them "I may have to ask my pupil to bring his friend another year. These boys sound like quite the pair"

"They are," Hermione smiled without hesitation. She had decided against asking McClaggen to be her date again this year. She didn't want to go through with another evening of him chasing her around the room, especially with Fred and George their to make fun. He made Viktor look like a shy school boy.

She had ever intention of going by herself. McClaggen hadn't worked in making Ron jealous, at least, not that she ever knew. Getting to spend a night with Fred and George, getting to see them back at Hogwarts not about to rush into a battle that could claim them—that would be exactly what she needed.

"Well that settles it," Slughorn nodded, tucking the letter into his pocket, a crease now down the middle "I'll have to write to them and see if they can fit us in their schedule. I knew their uncles, Fabian and Gideon were part of the club back in the day—can't say I remember Albert—"

"Arthur," Harry corrected.

"Right. Arthur," Slughorn repeated, although he still wasn't quite sure if that was the name he was looking for, "Right, well, I'll let you return to your studies my fair slugs," he chuckled again, walking down the corridor, disappearing behind a suit of armor.

The two of them stood in silence for the slightest moment, as though they didn't know if they were being overheard or not. Harry turned to Hermione and in a low voice asked, "Are you allowed to tell me what you and Professor Dumbeldore are discussing?"

"No," she answered all too quickly, "But when the time comes, I'll be able to tell you."

* * *

((*))

* * *

She had returned to the tower for only a moment to drop off her school things and head down for dinner. When she got to her room, Paravati was opening the window for a rather persistent, large, tawny owl that held a large brown box with orange string. "I was trying to take a nap when this thing kept scratching at the window," her roommate muttered, annoyance bubbling to the surface. Paravati looked at the name scrawled on the package, "Did you order something from the Weasley's?"

"No," Hermione started but took the package any way. She dug in her trunk for an owl treat and passed it to the bird who took off thru the window, nearly knocking Paravati into her bedpost.

 _What is this?_ She asked herself cutting the string. Her thumb grazed the purple emblem of the WWW stamped on the side. She hadn't ordered anything. What was all this about?

"What did you get?" Paravati asked, walking over to the bed to see what spoils Hermione was getting from the Weasley clan that were not being sent to Lavender. "It had your name on it, right?"

"Yes, and not yours," Hermione said, taking the package with her and leaving the room. She wasn't Paravati's fan on good day, let a lone a day when she was doing her best impersonation of Harry's Aunt Petunia.

She walked to the top of the stairs to the little landing that over look the lake and the hilltop. The sun was beginning to set, lighting her little sanctuary and setting it ablaze in golden sunlight.

Hermione opened the box and immediately laughed. Inside was a small Pygmy puff, sleeping quietly against a plush of self-warming gloves and nestled under a stack of Sugar Quills. _"What is this?"_ she asked to herself, her fingers dancing over a small amulet, a flower with sparkling stones pressed on to the deep blue stone.

The box was full of little oddities and merchandise she could only assume came from the store. An orange envelope with her name on it was tucked in the side of the box, pressed against the daydreams and lotion.

 _A little birdie heard you might be having a bad day. This is supposed to chase all your sorrows away. Don't throw a fit, a lot of these are samples. Suck it up and be happy Granger. It gets better._

 _-F._

 _Oh, and if you'd like us to test a WWW Howler on a certain brother of ours, please, let us know._

Maybe it was the sun shining in her face, or that her hand was resting on the gloves and little puff, but she couldn't quite explain the happy warmth that was spreading through her chest. Hermione read the little not a second time, and then a third. Oh she knew she'd have to come up with some elaborate story for why she got merchandise from Fred, but that didn't matter. What mattered was that for the first time in a while, she felt particularly happy.

* * *

AN: Hey friends! I know I had said that Hermione and Dumbledore would be meeting in this chapter, but when I got to that bit we were already flirting with 5k in words... So, next week well have Albus Dumbledore and more adventures with Fixed and Flexible time. And maybe we'll have the slug party. We'll see. The outline for each chapter isn't a fixed point, a lot more forgiving.

As for the Bad Day box, I'm sorry that's actually me pouring a bit of myself and my friends into the story. We actually make Bad Day Boxes for each other when going through a particularly nasty moment of life when we're having more bad days than good ones. They're usually filled with some of our favorite things that makes us happy- Books by our favorite author, dvds from the 5 dollar bin, a treat- it all varies on the friend and nature of the Bad Day. It may seem little bit of a stretch in realms of fanficition but I thought it fit in what Fred knows about Hermione and with what Hermione is battling through right now (Won Won and Fixed Points don't mesh well).

That's really all for my blurb today. Until next week's adventures I remain your faithful Author,

KH


	14. Fallen Gods

Fallen Gods

* * *

When Hermione opened her eyes, she couldn't quite see what was going on.

Nor could she tell where she was. It was too dark to identify for the smooth, white marble on the ground. That seemed to glow in the faint light coming from the torches that lined the wall. As her eyes adjust she realized _partially_ where she was.

She was standing on a chess board.

It was like her first year. She stood, centered on a white, marble slab, surrounded by the deep onyx black squares that checkered the marble. It was dim, just as it had been before. Ron's eyes must have been better when they had been younger, because she couldn't quite make out her surroundings. _His eyes might have been good, but his skill at chess was even better._

She could make out the shadows of the pieces across the board, still looking as daunting now as they had when she was twelve. The queen, staring down, her sword in hand, ready to cut anyone who came in her way down. It was only in comparison to Voldemort, to every thing they had faced _since_ their first year, that the set wasn't as daunting as it had been. _Perspective Hermione. Perspective._

 _Perspective—_

The last time she had been on a Chess set like this, she had run back through the smoke from Snape's Riddle to see if Ron was alright. To rouse him up so they could go and get help for Harry. She had been terrified. She often thought back to that and hated how naive they had all been. _You're a great wizard Harry, you can't write an essay to save your life but you should have no problem taking on Snape-_ they had been such naive, optimistic children. _I'll go back and save Ron, who you know, could be dying of a concussion because he thinks you can take on a grown wizard as well._ They hadn't even check Ron, they had just moved to the next obstacle.

 _It's a miracle you lot even survived to your second year,_ she thought, straining her eyes in the darkness. _Smarter idiots have died than you three._

And she wasn't standing in her Bishops square. This time she was standing opposite of the daunting, black queen. Ron had cast her as the white of the queen.

Her sense were growing more alert. She looked to her side and there she could see Harry standing next to her as the King. But he was yelling now—he was calling out as though he was in a significant amount of pain. She could see him shouting as the pawn fell in front of them. Distress lining his face like a warriors scares. _It's just a pawn Harry—it's just a spare part of the game,_ she wanted to tell him. Spares had to be sacrificed to win. But as the enemy pawn came to cut the pawn down her heart stopped and she understood just what had cause Harry be alarmed. The Pawn had transformed from the faceless victim to someone they both knew. What had been a stone was now Cedric Diggory.

She was straining her eyes again, _this wasn't real, it couldn't be happening._ But the pieces were morphing before her. As the outline of the piece became clear, it transfigured into another person they knew, just how it had done so with Cedric. Another familiar face. It wasn't just swords they were playing with. There were flashes of light and the masks of the Death Eaters gleamed in the torch light and sparks of green.

In the place of pawn there were members of Dumbledore's Army. People she had seen rise to competency in spell work that would make them threats to the Death Eaters. People she knew and cared for. Collin Creevey, Justin Fletch-Fletchy, Seamus, Dean, the lot of them. Even Lavender and Nigel. All Perched on stones, wands in hand, their faces fixed upon the shadows before them. Ginny and Luna were on the edge as the rooks. She supposed it fit well for Luna, having grown up in a house that resembled the piece, but Ginny? _She had been left to defend the school,_ she reasoned to herself. _She had been left to protect the castle, only right she play for it now._

From the corner of her eye, she could see a few other players that seemed to have been assigned as pieces similar to the role they had in the war. Neville was on a horse as a knight, Ron reclaiming his post as the other. George stood at the flanks as a Bishop. _If George is here, then Fred—_ She turned her head around quickly, looking to find Fred who was the Bishop nearest her. She couldn't quite make out his face but he seemed to be calling out to her, whistling over the clash of stone, trying to catch her attention. She knew it was him, he calling out " _What's a nice girl like you doing on a chess board like this?"_

She couldn't feel it, but she could hear her laugh as the game went on. It was going so much more quickly than it had the first time. Before, Ron sat from his horse, examining the board, making moves and counter moves in his head. This time, the Players were moving this time on their own free will. Not directed by Ron or Harry. Certainly not by herself. They just seemed to go on their own free will. _That, or they were being moved by fate._

On the far side of the board, George to be trying to launch a counter attack with Neville against the black rook, but the were failing. Seamus trying to work his way over to help. They were loosing. They were _always_ loosing.

The smell of smoke and flicker of torch light were swirling about her head. The clatter of stone on stone drowned out the noise around her. But there was a voice that now echoed in her head, like that of a distant memory steeped in childhood bravery they had only began to understood. _Once I make my move, the Queen will take me, then you're free to check the King—_

it was a memory that kept repeating itself. She knew what would happen. Ron would make the move that would sacrifice his piece, but end the game with a victory.

But what were they playing for? What victory did they want?

If Harry was their King, she knew in an instant the other King was Voldemort. And the seven others—the rooks, the bishops the knights, even the queen—there were seven of them. _Where they the horcruxes?_ It made sense, or at least as much sense as the fate of their world relying on a game of chess could. They defended the King. But she could see the outline of the snake circling Voldemort's feet. In addition to Harry—. That meant there was six Horcruxes on the board, and two loyal followers of Voldemort.

She wanted to yell at the pawns. Tell them to not worry about the enemy pawns but to attack the greater players. Neville and Ginny seemed to have caught on and were pushing towards the enemy Bishop. But the Queen was helping, yelling her own directions along the way, casting the two off.

 _Once I make my move, the Queen will take me—_ what if she was the hero this time? What if she took Ron's place and took down the Queen? Then, at the very least, they could destroy the Horcruxes and be able to defeat the king without the protection the Black Queen offered?

Just as before, some of the other pawns started to get picked off. Collin. Nigel. Then Lavender. Hermione's plan to save them had failed. They had taken two rooks, and Ron just destroyed an enemy knight. _Had that been the locket?_ She wanted to ask. But it didn't matter. She was in check with the Black Queen. A stinging sensation danced up her forearm, burning as it went. _You know who the Queen is,_ she thought. _You know whose under that cloak—_

 _Once I make my move, the Queen will take me—_ Ron's voice echoed still. Once the Queen took her, Harry would be exposed and would be checked by the Victorious Queen unless someone made a move. Ron had been good last time. He had made sure the only one that was hurt in Wizard Chess was him. He was always one move ahead. But even he was beyond reach of helping her. He had wandered too far off. He was at least three moves away. She would be the sacrifice this time. Harry would have to move after her, he'd have to run, but maybe there'd be another way. He had always found one.

She didn't notice Fred going out of the way of his brother's voice. Bellowing out the move before Ron could. Hermione hadn't even realized what was happening. She just saw Fred gliding to a few squares over, just diagonal from her. "Eyes on me Granger," he said calmly, "That's what's key. Just keep your eyes steady on me."

"Fred, what are you talking about?" she said, tilting her head trying to get a better view of him. She was angry enough she wanted to whack him down herself. "Get out of the way, I can do this—"

But the Black Queen was moving, Hermione could see that from the corner of her eye, _Bellatrix_ wasn't moving towards her. She was moving to Fred.

"Fred, get out of the way—" she argued, panicked this time, " At least hide behind your piece—"

"Weasley's are many things, but we're not cowards," he said, keeping his eyes steady on her "Couldn't let it have been you," he said with a shadow of a smile flickering in the torchlight that danced on his face, who now turned to face his opponent head on. The queen stopped, raised her sword, and in a fluid motion stones began to fall around Fred. Hermione called out, shout this time. She couldn't see him this time. She fumbled trying to grab her wand, something to halt the attack. To save him. To pull him away from the derbies.

 _That's Wizard's Chess._

The smoke seemed to envelope her as well, swallowing her up as little pebbles of what had been Fred's Bishop ricocheting against her face. Her surroundings began disappear as the smoke grew thicker and she came to, sitting in a chair in Dumbledore's office. A weary looking Headmaster sitting across from her, looking deeply concerned.

"I'm taking that hasn't happened, has it?" Dumbledore asked, pulling out a small stack of chocolate bars, pushing them across the desk. "Do tell me the biggest battle of our time doesn't come to an end in a Chess match?"

"Ron could win a game of Chess," Hermione said, her voice labored as her fingers fidgeted with the wrapper. "He made sacrifices. In the Last Battle it was different—"

 _But how?_ They had all been pawns. The entire war they were pawns, moving from place to place, trying to destroy pieces of Voldemort. But they had been pawns. Pushed to their fate by an invisible hand. Hadn't everyone seen Harry as the King that was vital to the game? How many people had given up when Hagrid emerged from the forest with the fallen hero in his arms? She had heard them. The Swears under their breath. Friends trying to convince the others that perhaps it wasn't too late to seek safety. Maybe the Room of Requirement still opened to Aberforth? They didn't know the room was still consumed in smoke. All they knew was the king was dead and their time would be soon if they stayed.

And in the end, even the King had been just another pawn in Dumbledore's Game of Chess.

Her head was throbbing as the memories came back, the ones before she came to the chess board. She had let Ginny play with the Pigmypuff, who she had yet to name, before she made her way to Dumbledore's office. They had done a couple exercises in Occlumency where she had been successful in casting him out of her mind. They had gotten confident that she was making steady process, and had talked about calling it a night when Dumbledore had an idea. He said he wanted to try something different, to see if he could manipulate memories, to call on the subconscious and see if he could fabricate events through memories. _Death Eaters did this sometimes in the first war, to manipulate people to showing their weaknesses—their leverage points. They haven't used this yet wide spread, but incase they ever did, you ought to be familiar—_

She had eagerly agreed, just as she always had. It was for the cause. It was a way to learn how to defend herself from the Death Eaters finding her memories. But that was before the chess set. That was before Dumbledore let them get killed in her head. She was tired of being so bloody familiar with Death Eaters and their little games.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, do you still have nightmares?" the Headmaster asked, standing up and walking to one of the book cases that lined the walls. His fingers flickering thru the air as he tried to find a book.

"About what happened during the war?" It was usually images of Malfoy Manor that caused her to wake in the still of night. Or, more lately, it had been Ron walking out on them. She'd woken up to Bathilda Bagshot crumpling to the ground as Nagini sprung free. Or running down the streets of London with Death Eaters on their heels— "But rarely the end of the war."

 _Rarely now anyway,_ she thought to herself. After it had happened, in-between every funeral there was always a flashback. Always a nightmare. Always trying to figure out how she could have done things differently.

"Have you been thinking of it recently?" Dumbledore asked again, still looking through the book case, "It is interesting that your brain has developed such as concrete self-consciousness about the war thru the metaphor of the chess game."

"I suppose I've been thinking of it all," she answered. She thought of it again and it all added up. The pawns that were lost. But Fred's death—he hadn't died defending her. He had been dueling together with Percy. _Why did you put him as the buffer between the two of you?_ He wouldn't have jumped between her and Bellatrix, he was smarter then that. He may have tried to help, but there was nothing that could have been done. "In full honesty there are slight abnormalities between what you saw and what happened."

"Part of the manipulation I'm afraid," he said, turning around with a small, thin, ordinary book. "But I'm guessing that most of the people in that metaphor have been weighing on your mind lately?"

"They're always on my mind, Professor, " she said curtly, ' I sat thru most of their funerals. I had to find empty words to comfort their family members. And now I see them walking up and down the corridor—" She could feel her pulse pounding in her head. The anger and frustration she was so often in check of coming to a head. "Professor, what's the point of all of this?" she asked heatedly, "What does any of this matter if _they_ are all fixed points?"

He set the book down, looking at her sudden out burst with marked concern. "Miss Granger?"

"I knew what was going to happen to Katie Bell," she said briskly, " I knew the time, I knew the place, I knew where she was going to be cursed, hell, I could even tell you who had done the cursing— but I still wasn't able to stop her."

He crossed the room, sitting down in the seat across from her, "What happened last time?"

"Last time I was with Harry and Ron, we were just leaving Hogsmead when we saw Katie and Leanne arguing," she explained. The words playing out the scene as it had repeatedly over the past few weeks, "I've gone through the scene a thousand different times, I should have remembered."

"But this time you had spent the afternoon with Mr Weasley, correct?" the Headmaster lead on. She tried not to pay any mind to the flicker of his eyes as he spoke of Fred.

"He said her name and I realized what I had forgotten," she muttered, angry at herself now, "I had thought of a dozen ways how I could stop it from happening before and I've thought of it more since. If something as singular as Katie Bell being cursed is a fixed point, whose to say the deaths in the war—"

"I'm sure there ware consequences bigger than it seems with Katie's accident," Dumbledore proposed, "Had you interrupted Katie's attack, a series of different results could have shattered us all. Maybe Katie's attack wasn't a fixed point, maybe it was? Maybe it was a moment in time that will allow you to control other events?"

"So?" her voice rang irately through the room, "At day's end, Katie Bell is in St. Mungos because I couldn't say no having a pint of Butterbeer with Fred Weasley."

Dumbledore tapped the book in front of him, "I've acquired this book recently from a muggle scientist named Dr. Brown, who reports to have been visited by a time traveler warning him of his death thirty years in the future." He paused, as though she was waiting to jump him at his words. "He says that knowing of his impending death gave him moments to prepare for his final end, but he ultimately took fate in his own hand and managed a way to survive."

' _It's a good thing your not a muggleborn or you'd have the whole lexicon of Marty McFly to pull from_ —she had said as much to Fred when the got off the train last term. _Surely he doesn't really mean—_ "So now you _want_ me to tell everyone they're going to die so they can prepare for it?" she laughed harshly, "It'll just create a panic—"

But Dumbledore lifted the book again, the outline a clock tower on the front. "Brown's findings show us that knowing _when_ we're going to die allows us to do extraordinary things in the name of survival. The power over the fates—"

"Doc Brown is a fictional character from a muggle film," Hermione finally, who had been singing at the window glaring at her sudden outburst. "We're not talking about some science fair project going on Professor. If we are, I'd have no problem telling you exactly how the last fight goes on."

"Miss Granger—"

"You know what happens next year?" she fumed, getting out of her seat and putting on the coat that had draped her chair. "You can test Brown's theory for yourself, after all you die in June."

The silence was stiller than she had expected, "You and Harry go to recover a Horcrux and when you come back,you're killed on the astronomy tower. For you, the war ends in June of 1997. But do you know you sent us into?"

"I had our plans made the week after _your_ funeral. I had to wipe my own parent's memories of me as mum called me to tea. I had to repack our bags at three in the morning so Molly Weasley didn't find out what we were doing and for us to bring Remus with us. And once we were on the run—" she laughed harshly, the memories rushing back to her as the words flooded out of her, "We didn't know how to destroy the horcruxes. You sent us to look for them without even the faintest of how to destroy them. Once we found the locket it damn near destroyed us. Ron left," she could feel her throat closing in, "Sometimes I even wanted to leave. You sent 3 seventeen year olds into the forests of England to try and find what could have been seven pebbles at the bottom of a Loch for all we knew. Meanwhile Neville Longbottom is left to protect the students left from Death Eaters on staff and unforgivables—"

She turned to the door and her voice felt as hallow as the words she spoke, "You may not have to go through the future, but I do. And I can't do it the same" her voice caught with the last words, an uncharacteristic outburst of emotion threatening her eyes, "Not again. Not another time."

She seemed to fly down the staircase. She was sort of surprised that Dumbledore didn't come after her. She felt she should be mortified. That she should run up stairs and apologize. In her head, the proper Hermione, _the Hermione that should be here,_ she was chastising her for everything she had just done. Verbally attacking Dumbledore. Telling him of his future. Of his death. She had just severely meddled with time. She had exposed so much that had been masked in her subconscious game of chess. And what more, she was still running away.

Because traveling in time had shown her well, there were some events only running could cure. After all, that's what she had done when she punched Malfoy in the face.

 _But suppose you had listened to him rather than jumping on his case,_ the put together Hermione mimicked in her head. Perhaps there was a Dr. Brown that didn't fit into an American movie franchise. Perhaps still, there as a Dr. Brown who _had_ saved his own life after a traveler from the future warned him of events to come. The difference in this farfetched realm of _Perhaps_ was the fact that Dr. Brown had obviously believed the traveler. She couldn't make the same guarantees on her end. She'd have a hard enough time trying to slip some foresight to saving them issues on the Horcrux Hunt—she couldn't imagine any of those doomed to die listening to her. Lavender might take it as more a threat than a prediction.

 _Fred would listen,_ the voice whispered. She tried to think of it. She tried to think of a scenario where she and Fred would be enjoying each others company only to have her ruin the moment as she told him his death. In no scenario could that end well. How did you sit next to someone, enjoy a laugh and then go about discussing the details of their impending doom? She felt as though her accident had doomed her to share the fate of Cassandra—to know the future but have no one believe her. _Whats worse,_ she thought, _knowing something but not being able to change it or sharing that knowledge and watching them ignore it?_

She could remember their faces as they fell in the chess match. How most of them looked betrayed. As though they truly could not believe that they had come this far only to meet this end; they couldn't believe that _this_ was it. But she could remember Fred's face. He knew what was happening. He was aware as he had chosen that fate. Because he had chosen, like he had with the package earlier that day, to save her.

Now the only question was whether or not she would choose to save him.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Fred looked at the little Time Turner in his hand and carefully set it down on the desk.

It wasn't quite as he had expected. He had to make it small, if it was any bigger it would have caught latch with the trace. Time Magic was easily detected, but he was sure he had the curtailed it. He was hopeful that he had pulled it off, that he had created the first of what would be the "Last Minute Line." If a person had forgotten about homework they didn't complete, they could go as far as a half hour to get at least a glimpse of their work done. He had hoped for more time, but a half hour was as long as he could go without picking up restrictions from the Ministry.

 _The Ministry—_ That was proving to be a headache enough. Apparently, when they had gone to the Department of Mysteries, Hermione, Harry, Ron and the others had—or rather, the Death Eaters—destroyed all the Time Turners in Ministry possession. From what he had learned digging around Time Turner Lore and maintenance, there was a small loan of them expected to come over from the United States but _red tape_ in the former of the return of the Dark Lord was baring their arrival in Britain.

 _If they knew a jokeshop was about to start selling these—_ he didn't want to think about it. They had done so much business with the Ministry lately, with the shielding cloaks and hats. He was hoping that would be grounds enough for casting a blind eye on this product, but he had his doubts. What he had been able to get out of his snooping and asking questions was there had been trials with Time Turners in the past. That it was part of their upkeep to put them through maintenance every decade or so. For the most part, it went flawlessly, but it also had come with consequences. There was one Unspeakable about a hundred years prior who had been putting her time turner through the trails and had been catapulted back four hundred or so years. She was missing for three days before she was able to return and when she did, it was a skeleton that came back—and twenty or so persons disappeared because their lines had been so significantly altered in the past.

 _But this will be flawless,_ he thought with more confidence as he looked at the little charm. _She probably wouldn't think to use it as a Time Turner anyway._ A half hour back in time wouldn't be near as impressive compared to going back three, four hours at a time to do her classes. But after the Bad Day Boxes, Fred was realizing it truly was the thought that counted with Hermione.

She had loved the Box. In fact, she had written to him the night she got it telling him he needed to make it a product at the shop. _A Grab Bag to Fight the Sad,_ she had said, something to keep people's spirits up when everything was turning dark. George had liked the line and they were starting to advertise it more in their mail orders. There had been a few purchases made for them already, nothing paramount, but enough to make them continue the process. If it could make Hermione Granger smile, he thought well of it.

He could hear footsteps coming and he took the time turner and placed it in a metal tin, pulling out another workbook as George came into the work room. He was planning on telling his brother about the idea soon enough, but he wanted it to be his secret, her surprise first.

"That glorious sister of ours," George started, triumphantly walking to his cupboard and pulling out the ledger book, "Fleur ordered the entire Teen Witch line for her little Gabrielle," he smiled, scribbling the numbers at the bottom of the ledger.

"I missed Fleur?" he asked, turning around to face the curtain that separated the shop from the work room.

"No, her owl just came in as we were closing," George waved , "I would have called you out if she had. She likes you best."

"Hardly, she can't tell us apart and you know it," he laughed, leaning back into his chair. "You gave her the Not-Ron Family discount?"

George smiled from beyond the ledger book, "The day he finds out we have such a thing will be the day he throws the biggest fit to mummy since the teddy bear."

Fred waved it off laughing, "At this point we can call it fines on his stupidity." But even now, Fred knew he ought to be grateful for that stupidity. It had been so useful growing up, getting he and George of out trouble but now—he wasn't so sure.

While he knew Ron had made his choice, he wasn't quite sure if Hermione had. Hermione had a choice made for her. She was living with the consequences of Ron and Lavender. Was it possible that she still was pinning for him? Was she going to bring a date to the Slugclub Party to make him jealous?

And then the question, deep under layers of subconscious reckoning, was the _him_ she was making jealous Ron or Fred?

He could feels his brother's eyes on him now. Looking at him while he thought. "If you think any harder you're hair is going to go all bushy like Granger," George said with a smirk. "Come on, let's have a night out. You, me, we can get Lee and go to Muggle London. Be two eighteen year olds for once, eh?"

"We still haven't hashed out what we're going to do for the little sluggies at the Party next week," Fred started. It was odd, him being the responsible one. That was more like George. But it was weird being out in a muggle setting. He knew she was up at the school, but any bushy hair girl could be her.

George rolled his eyes, "Nothing to plan. We show up, make some explosions, do Filtch in, give Peeves a Christmas Present and prank Ron on our way out." His brother paused for a minute, "I suppose we could prank Ginny's boyfriend. Which one is she with now? Still Dean?"

"His name's Dean? I thought he was Sam?" Fred quipped. He'd been so wrapped in Ron's recent developments he hadn't thought much of Ginny's romantic endeavors. "I bet you a sickle she's with Harry by the end of next term."

George raised his eyebrow as he stashed the book away. "Sickle says he breaks it off to be noble," his brother countered, 'We'll hash out or bets and the slug plans tomorrow, but come on, let's go."

He thought for a minute. It was December in 1996, they didn't have long until something would happen that would take away these fleeting moments of actual freedom. He didn't know the future, but if the snippets they were getting out of the order and off the Apollo Radio broadcasts in were any indication, they weren't near as prepared as they ought to be. He put the workbooks back on the shelf and moved the tin to his drawer. He would need to add in the sand to the Time Turner. That was all that was left and then he could give it to Hermione.

He didn't know the future when it came to her either, but perhaps it was the freedom and optimism that came from leaving the shop and sneaking out the alley to the busy roads of Leicester Square Road, but he couldn't shape up a future that didn't have her joining him for an adventure amidst the street vendors and Christmas window displays.

They were waiting in a pub around the corner for Lee to join them. It was nippy out and the room was starting to get crowded. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he saw her—he nearly jumped out of skin—but then he realized it was another girl with brown curls, hunched over a chess board with a friend, who had just taken the girls bishop with her Queen…

"Oi, Lee's here, And he brought Ange!" George called over the noise. Fred his head around and forgot the game as quickly as he had noticed it. There was some muggle sport on and people were starting to sing the songs. Fred took his arms and drapped them across his brother and his friend, "Here's to a night of mugglery."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Author's Note:

So this is going to be a tad longer than usual. And slightly personal. Which if your anything like me, skip to the bottom, leave a review and wait for the next email in your box telling you I've updated.

The past few weeks have been difficult. For the past two years, I've worked for an online retailer and we've been gearing up for our busy season. Last year's busy season was hell. I developed some anxiety issues and my boss was very negative and pessimistic about our performance and the people on our team. While I have a better manager this time around, many of the feelings I've buried over the past year have resurfaced and it's been a downward spiral since Columbus Day. To make matters worse, we've recently restructured our team, my fellow assistant manager being transferred to a more isolated task. I like the new one, but one of the applicants who didn't get the position has made it her personal goal to find a way to take my position. I don't mean to sound ten years younger than I am, but she's the living embodiment of Regina George.

Initially, I thought I'd stand my ground and hold it. But after two years, working nights and weekends, I am so ready to end this chapter of my life.

I am an academic working in a warehouse. Its suffocating. It's like being cemented to the floor as sand falls through the windows. It's not bad at first. The sand is warm, you tell yourself you're on the beach. And then it takes hold little more. And More. And before you know it, you're standing with sand up to your shoulders and your fighting to keep your head above and not breath in the suffocating sand. When I graduated university, I had such great plans and allusions of grandeur and instead I haven't had a Friday night off in months, dating has been DOA, and I'm no closer to applying to graduates school as was when I started.

So, the reason I haven't written, other than my filling out job applications, is that I haven't really been in a happy place to write. Its really only due to my stellar friends you're getting this now. In full honesty I don't feel like this is my best chapter, but I had fun writing in some easter eggs and doing the lovely foreshadowing bit.

 **Next chapter:** Slugs Party. And the Weasley's are going to rock it. Remember those dress robes Hermione had bought forever ago? Yup. They're coming out now.

Until next time,

Kait Hobbit


	15. Falling Guards

Falling Guards

* * *

"Dumbledore still not at the breakfast table?" Harry asked, causing Hermione to look up from the obituaries she was reading in the _Prophet._ She looked mildly annoyed to be interrupted in reading about the murder of Eleanor Rigby of Liverpool, but glanced at the head table to note Dumbledore's large, vacant chair. "He must have had business at the Ministry?" Ron offered, taking a break from his breakfast plate, "Or maybe he's traveling and doing whatever it is he's been doing lately. World falling to bits he has more important things to do than run a school."

Harry shrugged, and Hermione tried returning to the morning death report, but gave up as a fresh platter of German Pancakes appeared next to the morning porridge. Ron out stretched his arm in front of her plate to pull the corner piece to his plate, only to be intercepted by Hermione slapping his hand with the flat of her knife as she claimed it for her own.

She had always loved Christmas at the Castle. Even during the darkest days of the War, the House Elves had poured their hearts into making sure the castle radiated cheer for those short, dark weeks in December. They knew what was going on and thought it their duty to keep that as far from the student's minds as possible. The Holidays were their escape. The Christmas trees gleamed, ornaments having a faint silvery glow around them as candles and stars shown down on the students in the Great Hall. It smelled like pine walking down the staircases that had over night been draped with Garland. From the Astronomy tower to Hagrid's hut, no detail had been neglected. From the ghostly carol to the German pancakes, the war was a vacant memory.

Just like Dumbledore's chair.

Hermione was grateful that Dumbledore had disappeared shortly after their lesson a few weeks earlier. She wasn't quite ready to deal with the consequences of telling Dumbledore his death. She might as well tare down all her guards and tell him who else, see if he could help her find the fixed points, whittle down who could and couldn't be saved, but parts of her were still too angry with him, too frustrated at the thought maybe she couldn't save them all.

 _But he didn't know any better—_ the logical, more dependable Hermione argued.

 _He was the only one Voldemort feared, he could have known better,_ she countered.

 _He did the best he could—_

 _He sent three teenagers on an insurmountable quest that you miraculously succeeded. You all should have died._

"Can you pass a pancake?" Ron asked, rubbing his hand where she had hit him. She raised her eyebrow and looked at him hesitantly, " _A_ pancake? You just want the one?"

"Well if you're going to knife me for them, I only have one good hand left," he tried, reaching over again; this time she helped hand it his way.

Ron had gotten to the tolerable stage of he and Lavender's relationship; at least, he was tolerable to be round when Lavender wasn't about. If she was anywhere near, he could still play the role of a junior dementor searching for a soul, but he was less urgent, less obnoxious in his role.

Hermione found some comfort in knowing she'd only have to deal with the two of them like this for three more months. After Ron's birthday he'd end things, and aside from Lavender throwing daggers at her thru puffy red eyes, as she got ready in the morning Hermione and Ron would return to the awkward, flirty cadence they had fallen into before.

Or so she expected. There was something off from last time. It was strange, but something was different. Maybe it was just because it was the second time around, but Hermione noticed more details about Ron and Lavender that made her tick like a bomb just begging to go off and destroy everything in a 5 kilometer distance. Like how Ron would tuck a strand of Lavender's hair behind one ear when they were snogging. He had done that same thing with her. And when she'd catch them snogging, she'd often catch him holding her head with the hand that had fixed the hair while the other one spanned her back. She knew the protection that was tucked in that embrace. Even when they were not snogging, she'd see he'd grabbed her hand when they left for a class. In the early days of their relationship, it was usually Lavender who tugged Ron like a steamboat from class to class. But Ron was taking action now. He even had this idiotic look on his face. She could have sworn the first time around he was scowling more and more around her. Not less as their relationship moved on.

All those little things, she had thought some of them were things that were unique to _them._ She didn't want to think that they were second hand tricks he had learned from _her._

She was expecting changes from her repeating time, but it was in the form of lives being saved. She hadn't anticipating anything changing between her and Ron, but she felt as though _that_ was inevitable. It was already changing. A Part of her was expecting to rush into his arms and kiss him during the Final Battle. She was expecting to hold him when— _well Fred's not dying, so that'll change,_ she corrected herself. She'd hold his hand for strength and comfort when Harry died. She was expecting that regardless the state of their relationship when she fell through time, she would get to bask in a few, quite, sunlit days with him.

But even that wasn't guaranteed from the first time around.

When the Battle of Hogwarts was over, when they woke up the next morning, still breathing, wrapped up in each other on the lumpy Gryffindor couch, she had forgotten for a moment the battle was over. As her heart beat slowed down, as she remembered that Harry was alive and asleep in his bed upstairs, that they had intended on going up and sleeping there but got—distracted?—in the Common Room, more than her vision became clear. For the first time since her fourth year, there wasn't a mad man that could come through the door and kill the both. They were no longer public enemies. Instead, they were starting a new part in their lives where they could possibly fade out of public life and enter in the long denied private rest.

She had tried stretching, but was pulled back by Ron, still sleeping, flexing his arm about her. She looked up and saw how when he slept he looked like the eighteen year old he was, and not some battle worn warrior. His freckles were spilled on his face. His hair needed a haircut, fringe tickled his brow. _But he was alive. She was alive. They had made it._

A Quaffle had seemed to settle on her stomach. _Yes, they had survived, but now what?_

She could find a way, wiggle out of his arms and disappear down the hall to the prefects bathroom and freshen up. She had only got to wash up at Shell Cottage, they hadn't stayed long enough for a proper bath. She could go, wash up, and come back and see how things went. Maybe, if he didn't wake up to find her in his arms, he'd forget that she'd kissed him and they'd fallen asleep together. Maybe she'd return to the Common Room and he'd be gone, looking for his grieving family.

The days of peace had finally come, a chance for _them_ had finally come. And if she were being honest, that terrified her.

 _But this is what's next,_ she had told herself. After all, even she couldn't give a defining moment when she had fallen infatuated with Ron Weasley, but it had been a while coming. It was time for this phase to begin. She had pushed it off though; defeating Voldemort, the horcruxes, those had all had priority. But they were gone. This was the next thing on her path. She'd figure the _now what_ along the way, no matter how terrifying that was.

She had kissed his temple. It was soft. Hesitant. As though she wasn't quite sure how the rest of whatever they now were was going to play out. He responded with his arm that was pinned under her wrapping around her shoulders and pulling her closer again, raising her head even to his. She could remember looking into his eyes, and noticing how blue they looked against the red stains of sleep deprivation they had grown accustomed to. He had taken a strand of her hair and tucked it behind her ear before he leaned down to kiss her.

"So tell me, if I had supported S.P.E.W when we were fourteen, would you have kissed me like that in the corridor?" his lips mused in ear. She had laughed, brushing out the fringe from his eyes, "You'd probably have gotten it sooner." His arms tightened around her as they laughed. She was safe and warm in his arms. The greatest threat they had to that moment being ruined was Harry coming down the stairs from the dormitory to find them like this. _No, that wouldn't have been the worst. If Molly had found them like that—no sense of propriety. Remus was dead. Tonks was dead. Fred was dead and George wished he was dead. And there we were snogging on the couch for all of Gryffindor to see._

But it wasn't all of Gryffindor.

It was only Parvati Patil that came down from the girls dormitory.

She was wearing one of Lavender's _Weird Sister's_ sweatshirts. They were always too big on Lavender and it seemed to swallow Parvati in the grief she was going through. She looked so small. The good sleep that she and Ron had the night before hadn't been given to Parvati. She looked like the only time she had closed her eyes last night was while she cried. She was swallowed up in her fresh, raw, angry, grief.

Parvati gave them one look, one Hermione's Aunt would give if she was too vivacious on Armistice Day. It was more than distaste, it was disgust.

"You Bastard, Ronald Weasley," she spat, "You bloody Bastard." Her words echoed in Hermione's ears as she ran back, up the stairs, stifling a sob before her door slammed shut.

 _It was just too soon,_ Ron had told her as they got up, leaning over and kissing her forehead. _Parvati's world just fell apart and ours is forging together._ _We'll have to keep it low key till all the funerals are done,_ he had told her. In a twisted way, she had thought it hardly seemed fair that they had to keep it low key. Seven years—she had waited over seven years—and now why, out of respect for his crazy, dead ex-girlfriend, _why_ did she have to wait? Why couldn't she snog him in the Common Room? Lavender hadn't chosen to be one of the Student Guard. The only thing that was holding them back was her memory.

But they _did_ keep it low key. There was never a more low key relationship then theirs in the days that immediately followed the war. To those who didn't know, they remained ignorant of their relationship. _Ron and Hermione? They're always together. Just like they always are—_ she had heard Dean Thomas explain to Susan Bones who had been the first to suspect. They were always within sight of each other, but physical contact was limited to slight touches and occasionally holding each other's hand thru a service. Except for Fred's. Then rather than leaning into his arm as the bodies were lowered into the earth.

 _That's not going to happen this time,_ she told herself for the umpteenth time. She didn't know if it was to convince her or command her to make it right.

She wondered what would change and what would stay the same about her and Ron's relationship after the war. Would it fizzle out like it was when the accident happened? She knew he felt it too. Like the final embers of their firework was falling in Switzerland. It wasn't a bad thing. She could remember waking up the morning of the accident and feeling as though there was a Quaffle lying on her chest at the thought of what to do next with Ron, just as when she woke up that first morning.

One of them had them had to end it, and she had to figure out what she would do after it did end. Would she lose Harry and all the Weasleys? Or would they start a trend of breaking up and coming back together again? What if they didn't and one Christmas she came to the Burrow the lone child among happy couples?

"Hermione," Harry called, his voice pulling her out of her thoughts like a rescuer, "Did you know about this?"

She looked and saw the little white card with emerald ink in his hands. She recognized it as the Slug Club Stationary and shrugged, "Know about what?"

"We're supposed to take a _date_ to the Christmas party?" Harry asked, looking more concerned about the small card than he ever did about meeting Voldemort. _Dating more daunting than the Dark Lord, good job Harry Potter._

"Didn't you know?" Hermione said nonchalantly, glancing back at the obituaries, "I suppose you'd have to come to a Slug Club meeting to find out little details like that."

"Vang 'hone," Ron said between bites, looking at Hermione suspiciously. He waited till he swallowed his food this time before he asked, "Who are you going with then?"

"None of your concern," she responded evenly, turning the page, "but because you won't stop at that, _myself._ I am going by myself. Now close your mouth Ronald Weasley or an owl will fly in it."

"You can't go stag Hermione, that's just sad," Ron warned, looking up and down the table as though he was looking for a suitable date for her. His eyes landed on Harry and he then looked at Hermione again, "I know, why don't the two of you go together, eh? No one will think anything of it."

"Last time someone got the idea I was dating Harry I was getting hate mail," Hermione glared from across her _Prophet,_ "You should ask Luna, Harry. You'd be able to hang out with Dean and Ginny and it'd be completely platonic."

"But why can't _we_ be platonic?" Harry asked, looking at the little card with disgust, " Why can't I go stag? Its my patronus after all—"

"Because if you go unattended someone like Romilda Vane will find a way to spike you a potion," she explained nonchalantly, "And for the last time, I am not getting toad spawn spat at me again. Not in my new robes I got. You go ask Luna and I'll sit here and ask no one."

The three of them tried returning to their breakfast, which proved difficult as every now and again Ron would try and find a guy for Hermione other than Harry, Hermione finally finished the Rigby article while Harry sat, searching the Great Hall for Luna. "On the bright side, only person she really does wander with is Ginny, so it's not like you'll be searching for a way to break her off from her group."

"So good to hear you two learned something from the Yule Ball," Hermione said, "Best ask her soon Harry. Its nice for a girl to have _some_ notice."

She didn't mean for that to come out as a dig to both of them, but she picked up her bags and headed out of the hall. She had some time before Transfiguration. She could pen through the journal again.

Fred's journal for her had gotten quite full. She had tried color-coding it. Writing in black ink what happened the first time. Changes that were made came the second time were written below the black in emerald ink. What she thought was a fixed point was written in red.

So far, the only fixed point she could see was Katie. Dumbledore's death was a fixed point, she knew that much. And anything to do with Malfoy she was starting to think was a fixed point because it led them to the Manor where Harry became the master of the Elder Wand. She had hoped that meeting with Dumbledore would help her distinguish between the fixed in the fluid this year so when she was camping next year with the boys she would be acting more in science rather than in theory. But after their last encounter, she knew she had probably ended lessons with Dumbledore for a while. _You should have known better. Harry ended his lessons by saying something he shouldn't,_ a self-righteous voice in her head chastised.

But she still stood by what she told him. He had sent three teenagers into the woods to save the world without the faintest idea of how to save each other.

She flipped through her scribbles of what was to come next. Slughorn's party was tomorrow night. A night as unfixed as could possible. Last time she had gone with Cormac, something she wasn't doing this time around. He was still flirtatious around her to the point it was nauseating. But Cormac was harmless. She had been encouraging a girl from Hufflepuff with Cormac and they seemed friendly enough in Herbology. He would still talk to her if they crossed paths in the common room, but that was the extent of it.

She had become Hermione Granger the matchmaker. She was a fairy godmother the second time around, not a well seasoned warrior. It was kind of disappointing to be honest.

The robes she had bought in August were hanging by the canopy of her bed, airing out after a few months in her trunk. She had forgotten just how lovely they were. They were probably too nice to be worn to a Slug Club get together, but the midnight blue against her pale, height of winter English skin would look stunning. She'd go through a bottle of Sleek-eezy hair gel, actually wear her some make up around the eyes and pretend, if only for a few hours, that the war was over. That it had ended that night and they were all the survivors. She wouldn't be Cassandra doomed to see them die. She would be Hermione, the one who helped them live.

Tomorrow's entry had the party, hiding from Cormac and Harry over hearing Draco and Snape talk about the Unbreakable Vow. She had changed part of that. She'd want to keep an ear out for Draco, because she would _love_ to hear that she and not just what Harry had heard. But there was another slight detail she may have changed without knowing. Last time, the guest to the party had been an actual vampire.

This time, the guests of Honor would be the Weasley Twins, back in the castle for one night, and one night only.

* * *

((*))

* * *

The last time Fred had been in the Castle he had gotten a salute from Peeves as he sang a new limerick about the hospitalization of Delores Umbridge. It had been a race to get to the infirmary, to see what his siblings had walked into _this_ time. As much as he liked to knock on Ron, he was fond of his brother, and fiercely protective of Ginny. Other than the salute, he didn't look to close to see what had changed in his absence, but this time he did.

He and George had apparated to the Three Broomsticks where Rosmerta had a carriage waiting for them and two bottles of mead. Apparently Slughorn had paid for one the weekend before but she had been out at the time, would they mind dropping it off for her. "Sneaking dangerous liquids into Hogwarts, couldn't have asked for any better escorts," George had winked, tucking the bottles under his arms.

When they got to the front steps, Professor McGonagall was standing waiting for them in her everyday emerald robes. "Professor McGonagall," Fred said with a smile, "Hope you're not planning on putting us in detention tonight."

He could have sworn he saw her lips turn upward in a smile, but it must have been the flickering light. "If you set off a trap in Mr. Filtch's corridors, I'm afraid he may insist."

"Where is he?" George asked, craning his head to see over McGonagall's shoulder, "Crying in his mop bucket that Umbridge is gone."

"Silence Weasley," the Professor quipped although it seemed more light hearted and less convincing then it usually did. "Professor Slughorn ask that I have a student escort you to the festivities, but given Mrs. Norris—"

"You just wanted to see us yourself, it's ok you can say that McGonagall," Fred said slyly, "If we're visiting you here means your going to have to come to the shop next."

She turned around and Fred could have sworn he had heard a chuckle as she led them through the giant doors.

The castle hadn't changed much from the initial scan, but it seemed to be a little lighter with Umbridge gone. He could hear laughter coming down a corridor. The suits of armor were looking at he and George as though they were long missed friends, one going so far to take off his helmet as they walked past. McGonagall stopped as they reached the third floor pulling them through the door that had been forbidden their third year.

"A quick word, before you get to the party," McGonagall whispered, "I have a message that needs to be delivered to Remus' morning. It's from Professor Dumbledore," she pulled out a small white card that had been sealed with the Headmaster's wax. "The Headmaster needs Remus to forward it. I don't know who too, the Headmaster just said _he_ would know what to do from there."

Fred looked over it as though it was a trick, "Don't know who?"

"Is that like You-Know-Who?" George picked up.

"But a little less decisive on _who_ exactly he's killing?" Fred smirked as McGonagall rolled her eyes and forced it into Fred's hands.

"You're guess is as good as mine. I know Dumbledore's been working on a project but I don't know what. Says he may have found a way to make sure when we get You-Know-Who he won't make it back again."

George let down a low whistle. Fred looked at the card, it was uncharacteristically thin parchment. A strange symbol scribbled inside a triangle in emerald slanted ink scribbled on the front. It was light but in his hand, with what McGonagall was describing, it felt as heavy as his Beater's bat in his hand. He tucked it on the inside of his dragon skin jacket.

"We'll make sure Lupin gets it," Fred promised, "I'll deliver it personally."

McGonagall nodded, and dusted her hands off the letter, "Thank you Weasley," she said as they exited the corridor and headed up another flight of stairs, "He'd do it himself, but apparently his travels have been pushed back a little while longer yet."

"Where exactly is he traveling?" George asked, still clutching the bottles Rosmerta had given them.

"He doesn't say," McGonagall answered, "If it was Fudge in control, I'd suppose he was at the Ministry helping the Minister write his Christmas address or for a debriefing. But Scrimgeour," she hesitated, "He is more engaged in the Ministry than Fudge."

The reached the room that Lupin had used during his tenure for Defense Against the Dark Arts exercises. It was large, although swatches of white fabric drapped the ceiling, small white balls of light hovering above them.

There were already groups of students in the room. An old gramophone was playing a jazzy song that was only drowned out by the chatter.

"I only ask that you don't burn down the school this time," Professor McGonagall said as she left the two of them in the doorway, "I might have assisted Peeves in your absence this spring, but I won't be repeating that service should a dragon find its way to my study tonight."

"Don't worry, we're professionals now," Fred said winking at the professor who rolled her eyes, "Exactly, that's what's terrifying."

His brother had already crossed the threshold to the class room and was shaking hands with a tall, round, older man with a silver handlebar mustache. "Hoarce Slughorn" a large hand forced itself into Fred's hand. "A pleasure to meet you Mr and Mr Weasley. You come highly recommended from my students."

George took out a small sugar cube, set it on the table and tapped it with his wand, and the old man watched amused as it expanded into a white, snow covered replica of Hogwarts, complete with two students skating along the lake.

"You would've given old James Potter a run for his money with transfiguration work like that," the old man chuckled, he broke off a spire and batted it against his lips, "Ah, better than sugar quills. Miss Granger, you didn't sugar coat it when you said these two were extraordinary."

 _Granger—_

Fred would later argue that he hadn't whipped his head around to see Hermione standing behind him. When George retold this to Angelina and Lee over drinks, he'd spend a good twenty minutes arguing that he had rather tripped and was trying to recover before anyone noticed.

But he had whipped his head around to see her. She was wearing dark blue dress robes that tapered down her silhouette, reaching the floor. Her sleeves stopped at her elbows and her neckline was high, just skimming her collarbones. Her hair was tucked up in an elaborate braid, little whisps framing her face.

And she was shinning. Oh Merlin, was she shinning in the white lights dancing above them.

He had watched her grow up. Not creepily. She had just spent the last three summers under his nose at the Burrow, the last five years down the table at Breakfast. But there was some resilience about her that he was only noticing now. And _oh,_ how he was noticing.

"Hullo Fred," she said, looking at him for a moment before she looked at his brother, "George."

"Miss Granger, shall I escort these gentlemen to the party alone?" Professor Slughorn asked with an underlining tone of amusement.

"Of course not," she answered, looping her arm with he and George's. Fred could have sworn she was looking directly at him as she said, "Never alone."

* * *

AN: I know its a little late, but the first draft didn't turn out the way I wanted it to. Or the second, or the third. But I think this is as close as I want to have it for now.

I wanted to thank you all for your kind words of encouragement in your reviews and messages from the previous AN. I truly appreciate your support. This story has been my escape in so many ways and I'm grateful for people like you who have supported it and its author along their way.

In my country, this week we celebrate a season of gratitude and appreciation for those dear in our lives. The next chapter will follow in the coming weeks, but I wanted to give you this chapter out of my thanks for you all. Especially as of late.

Until next time ~KH.


	16. Falling Hippogriffs

Falling Hippogriffs

* * *

"Our Guests of Honor have arrived," Slughorn announced, clinking his spoon against the goblet in hand while the assembled slugs applauded. Hermione slowed her step and eased her arm out of George's first, and then even more slowly out of Fred's bent arm. She let it linger on his back before she whispered, _"Welcome home"_ before she stepped back to be with the other students.

She _did_ note his profile had turned to follow her departure from his side, a smirk creeping at the corners where she knew he had registered what she said. This had to be the best deviation she had made from her original sixth year, having Fred and George back. She was starting to pick up on a look of suspicion from Ginny across the room, but it hardly mattered. Perhaps it was selfish, but she needed to have these slight deviations where she was genuinely happy. Where she wasn't following a script made from foggy memories.

"Hello dear ones, and welcome to the First Slug Club Christmas Party—although not the _very_ first," Slughorn bubbled, rolling to the top of his toes and twisting his curled mustache. If he hadn't decided to be a Professor, Hermione could see him being a party coordinator. He lived for these simple distractions. "I've hosted twenty seven or so of these before retirement—but I digress." The old man smiled, nearly tipping over his goblet with an exaggerated hand movement. "In light of recent events, I thought it better to have some light entertainment than a previous student come and lecture you. Mr Weasley and Mr Weasley, brothers of our own Ginny Weasley were happy to supply entertainment. Gentlemen," he turned first to George and then Fred, " the Floor is all yours."

George turned towards his broth and both twins bowed, "Stand back now," George said, as the students heeded the twin's warning. Most of them having seen the twin's handy work the year before. Fred was removing his black, dragon scale jacket and Hermione was surprised to see both brothers were in muggle dress shirts, the kind her father would wear when he and her mother went out for dinner. How had she not spotted it earlier? They didn't wear ties, and Fred had just unbuttoned the collar to give it more room and was working on rolling up his sleeves. Both brothers wore suspenders and Hermione wondered if Madam Malkin's was tailoring a muggle line or if perhaps Fred and George had been getting into Muggle London more than they normally visited.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," Fred finally said, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows, "When my Brother and I were last in the castle we made a display of items that could be used to dispose the castle's enemies," Hermione looked and George who gave her smug look. "This time, we're making a display of items that can be used for general protection in our time. Georgie?"

George raised his wand arm and with concentration Hermione had never seen on the twin's face before, only after the war. A silver filmed raccoon erupted from his wand, playing through the air and then scourging through the room, weaving itself between legs of the students before jumping up in the air again.

She hadn't seen the silver raccoon since the war ended. She hadn't seen it before either, but she knew he _had_ been able to summon a Patronus then, or so Angelina said. After the war, George hadn't. He had been fortunate there wasn't a need as there had been. But there was the playful raccoon, for the world to see. So much George himself, darting around the room without a thought or care of what was going on.

"Meet Rascal, an imitation of a patronus that can stand guard on your loved ones when you're away and carry messages across the country in the event of danger. He's joined by Rapier," Fred's patronus that now zipped through the air, the Fox that was now searching faces throughout the room, "and both will be your coordinators of mischief for the rest of the evening."

The silver guardians looked at their masters and then each other before the darted around the boarders of the room. Slowly, the lights that Slughorn had put up beyond the emerald, gold and white fabric above them extinguished themselves till the room was dimmed. Sparks began from the corners and small, golden hippogriffs seemed to be dancing out of the corners towards the center. _God Rest ye Merry Hippogriffs_ now echoed from the Gramophone, playing to the Hippogriffs as the dived above their heads, flying to the center of the room where Fred and George stood, looking up at their work with admiration.

It was particularly good magic; much like the fireworks that had blazed the school against Umbridge, only smaller and not near as temperamental as the dragons. The Hippogriffs circled above their heads in the center, but were now breaking formation. Flying towards the fabric that Slughorn had draped from the ceiling, they broke through the barrier and continued to fly above their heads. Hermione suppressed a smile. It looked like little fireflies like the ones she had seen in forests when she had camped with her father.

" _Holographic Hippogriffs,"_ George said, a fast jazzy number replacing the carol on the gramophone, "Our latest model carries a sensory charm and guard windows and doorways from Dark Magic. Ideal for evenings when you are away from the house but someone is left behind. These were the originals that perform when they are not in use protecting."

The firefly hippogriffs darted left, and then right. They were faster than they had been darting. But the light was changing, it had dimmed a little bit, and there weren't near as many floating above them. They were definitely coordinating something different than before.

Suddenly, one darted through the gaps in the fabric. It wasn't a Hippogriff anymore, but a quidditch player, darting through the air, quaffle in hand.

"While not particularly for security or communications, the Weasley Wotcher Quidditch team allows you to coach your own team while they play above your heads," Fred smirked, as a red headed beater sent a mini bludger through the air, clinking it toward's Slughorn's goblet. "They have elements similar to Wizard's Chess where they will actually argue back if you give them bad coaching and the beater's can throw their bludgers towards unwanted visitors."

The group watched as the opposing team made it through the canvas above them and the plays began to unfold like it was one of Wood's tried and true moves. Hermione thought they were all the size of her thumb and they could all move rather quickly. It was amazing to see how good at magic the twins were. She had never doubted that, but she had never truly admitted or appreciated how talented they were at it. When the three of them had disappeared for the search for Horcruxes, she had no idea what was left behind in the joke shop. It was only natural for them to expand the bad day boxes into a bad day line for the house bound witch or wizard.

A part of her wondered what else she had missed from the twins when she was on the run. The shop stayed open and operational almost until the end. It was only once the Death Eaters could confirm Ron was with Harry that the Weasleys went into hiding. She wondered if these Quidditch players would some day be dive bombing Muriel's dining room. The Chasers weaved between the Canvas for the Quaffle, The Beaters were actually able to beat what looked like a small marble sized ball towards the Chasers.

"Wotcher Quidditch was designed for the younger crowd who made need distractions or entertainment on the run," Fred said and she wondered if he knew how many in this room were going to be forced into hiding. _Of course he doesn't. And he doesn't need to know._ Hadn't her conversation with Dumbledore shown her that much? No one should know that much of their future—

 _But what if he did?_

"Hermione, Duck! " he called as the silver marble came her way. His voice snapped her out of her momentary bout of insanity as she swerved her head. Cormac McClaggen was behind her and took a toothpick he had been using and wielded it like a beater's bat, sending the ball back up into the canvas area. Hermione felt his arm stead herself around the shoulders and while she was midway through thanking him a glimpse of gold hovered next to his ear. "McClaggen—"

A small blonde haired seeker came zipping through the air, darting between guests and flying under people's noses. As the snitch moved higher, past McClaggen's ear, the little seeker couldn't slow down and slammed into McClaggen's temple, McClaggen trying to swat it away like a fly. The Blonde was shaking it off and yelling at McClagggen in a rather high pitch voice before fishing his broom out of the stunned seventh year's hair.

Hermione, and she noticed the rest of the guests, looked around the room trying to find where the snitch had gone. Another small seeker, this one with black hair, seemed to be doing corkscrews through the air before he finally had the little ball in his grasp.

The moment that they did, thirteen magnificent fire works seemed to illuminate the room. Fred and George always seemed to have a particular flair with fireworks, Hermione had decided. As one would fade away another seemed to go off, and she wondered if all of the Wotcher Quidditch games ended with explosions or if this was just a part of the show. The Lone surviving player, the Seeker zoomed around the room in a victory lap, the small fleck of gold no bigger than an earring in his out stretched hand.

As he made his way to the center of the room, Hermione noticed how the broom was sloping vertically. Its rider was no longer riding, but had a hand at the top and his feet were hanging on by lodging themselves a top the needles of twigs assembled at the base. If she didn't know better, she thought the broom was growing. Still slender, but it was gaining in length until it was nearly the size of a real broom.

Rascal and Rappier appeared again at its base, looking up at the seeker who was sitting on top with the snitch in hand. The two silvery patronuses looked at each other and seemed to nod in agreement as the ran circles around the broom, each time flying higher and faster until they reached the top and a burst of white light snapped through the room leaving in its wake a Christmas tree, a golden snitch as its topper and quidditch players and hippogriffs now stationary as ornaments.

The rest of the Slug Club seemed to notice the orange boxes with purple twine under the branches of the tree, but Hermione's eyes followed the silver fox that now rested in Fred's arms. He seemed to mutter something to it, because the fox had a grin on its face before it faded away. _Or perhaps it always had that grin and she hadn't noticed?_ she told herself. George's voice now echoed, "Happy Christmas, from the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes to you. There's a box each under the tree, only one mind you."

While the students seem to dig around the tree, Hermione looked past to see Slughorn clasps both brothers on the shoulders in what Hermione was sure was a talk that the Old Slug thought would led to more gatherings and connections. She tucked back a stray wisp of hair and smiled. She could already hear George gripping _"Granger, what have you gotten us into_ " and she was sure Fred would add a sarcastic comment about spending the entire evening with an oldman when all the pretty girls were out, but she tucked that aside. She would have time to hear it later, she told herself as she tucked her own small orange box back in her evening bag.

After all, the entertainment was the first part of the Slug Club party. In the second act, she needed to overhear Snape and Draco's conversation about the unbreakable vow.

Of course, she needed Draco to show up so he could get kicked out first.

* * *

((*))

* * *

The party was busy shifting into the second phase she could remember; All of Slughorn's successful alumni had been assembled with a master's touch, now paired off with several of his up and coming students. She had just escaped a conversation with Florence Livesley from the Department of Magical Research, Advancements and Records. It was a lesser-known branch, a side department of a division that McGonagall had given her a pamphlet for when she had sat in for Career Advice. It studied magical theory and the evolution of spell casting. It had seemed very enlightening to sixteen-year-old Hermione but nineteen-year-old Hermione didn't care for it. There was so much more to do than sit in an archive all day when a society's laws had to be changed and improved upon. Or at least, so she thought at the time of the accident. Even in her post war life, Hermione wasn't sure what she wanted to do. All she knew was she could smile, and nod to Ms Livelsley and say she'd send an Owl. She wouldn't be surprised if _I must not tell lies_ didn't pop up on her hand she had told that lie so often.

The more ornately dressed former slugs seemed to be circling Harry like vultures, waiting their turn to see what they could gain from the Boy-Who-Lived. A Biographer, another looking for an endorsement on a quidditch line, it never seemed to stop. Slughorn himself was still talking to Fred and George, just as he had when their presentation had finished. Fred's face reflected the expression he usually reserved for business partners and over exuberant patrons, while George was rocking on heels—

She darted her eyes away from the brothers; to anything other than them. George's tell—when he was stressed, or overwhelmed—when he felt trapped and like he needed to run—she was all too familiar with that. It was only slight now, anyone else—Slughorn for example—he would have missed it. But Fred seemed to have acknowledged it and was now trying to break away from the Professor who had now tried bringing the two brothers over to a former Slug drinking a sherry.

But she had already turned away. She had deviated tonight in too many ways already; she couldn't make any more deviations until she found Malfoy.

In the dim light, she hadn't seen him when Fred and George were doing their presentation and performance. Even now, the light restored, she couldn't find him. There were more people than she had remembered. She had spent so much time her first go around hiding from McClaggen, had she really over estimated the amount of people Slughorn had crammed into the room?

There was a sudden shuffle. For a moment, Hermione thought that it was the songs changing on the gramophone, the needle scratching at the outer rim. Instead, it was Filch hustling into the center of the room, pulling Malfoy in by his ear.

After the war, Draco had largely disappeared from the public view. The last time she had seen him clearly had been in when his family was called before the Truth and Reconciliation Tribunal. Looking at him now, she realized she had forgotten how gaunt Malfoy had looked. His face was thinner than she had remembered, his cheekbones sharp as though it was a thin square of skin pulled too tightly over marble cheekbones. But his eyes were the same: angry, sharp and annoyed. She'd say embarrassed but she knew Malfoy too well to know it was his pride that was hurt. Not him personally.

"Professor, I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor," Filch bellowed, as though he wanted to make an example of Malfoy to a set of students he couldn't care less for. A good number of the new Slugs had been members of the DA who hadn't forgotten the role Malfoy played a role in Umbridge's rise to power. Filch cleared his voice and continued, "Claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?" the caretaker wheezed, as though he knew the answer already and knew that he would get a response that would result in a punishment.

Malfoy pulled from Filch's grasp and looked disgusted at Filch. "All right, I wasn't invited!" he spat, "I was trying to gatecrash, happy?"

"No, I'm not" Filch responded, although his face shown with the joy usually reserved for a child at Christmas. "You heard what the Headmaster said at the start of term feast, no night-time prowling with out permission. No invitation means no permission boy!"

Fred and George had found their savior in Malfoy, as Slughorn stepped away from them and towards Filch, "No need to march off to the Headmaster's office," Slughorn waved, looking at the boy with pity Hermione had missed the first time, "It's Christmas, and it's not a crime to want to come to a party. I knew the boy's grandfather after all," the last part he said more for himself than for the audience that had developed. Slughorn snapped his fingers and the music started up again on the gramophone and the atmosphere returned to the jovial state it had been before its interruption.

But Filch wasn't done yet. His eyes had landed on the two brothers that were now eyeing him over like a pair of cats and their favorite mouse. "What are they doing here?" he stuttered at first before turning to Slughorn, more mania tinged to his voice, " _What are they doing here_?"

Slughorn glanced at Filch as though he was the one gatecrashing. "Now Argus, these are _my guests_ who were approved by Dumbledore himself—"

"They were banished! Life time bans!" Filch erupted, 'Mark my words—"

"Oh we can do that," George said lazily, "Mark them in a swamp"

"In a firework," Fred suggested, his voice bored as he looked at a Filch with the same contempt Malfoy had.

"Or maybe something more original Fred, he's familiar with the fireworks and swamp tricks," George answered, "We could Mark his words on his face, then he wouldn't have to repeat himself. Do that service for a week or so."

"Or we could bring Mrs Norris into it somehow, she could mark it in every tapestry on the seventh floor—"

"And place a swamp there for good measure."

Filch stormed off, presumably to place his dearest cat out of perceived fear and to do a preemptive strike on the seventh floor for an attack she knew wasn't going to come. By the time Filch was gone the music had resumed and so had everyone else in the nightly festivities.

Hermione continued her searched the room and her memories. She tried to think how it panned out before. She hadn't overheared with Harry of the Unbreakable Vow, instead she was trying to prolong a conversation with Ginny and Dean in hopes McClaggen would get the hint she didn't want to find a broom cupboard. She had missed Malfoy in the midst, she couldn't find Snape in the room either. They had escaped just as they had before.

 _The Corridor, they'll go out to the corridor…_

She was out of the room before she realized it. The Corridor was dim, the torches had now been charmed to extinguish themselves now when the student curfew began. There were only a few still alight near Slughorns Office. But what really lit the corridor was the moonlight flickering through the glass panels, the soft pale glow giving the castle, or at the very least the corridor, the gentlest whisper that tomorrow would be kinder than the horrors she had foreseen.

She stood for a moment and listened, hoping for a betraying step or the pull of the carpet from fast moving travelers. Something that would indicate they had already left and she could follow them. She wouldn't have Harry's invisibility cloak, but maybe if Harry saw her he'd pull her under it as well.

A tug of her hand made her jump for her wand; she was halfway through a hex when she heard the laugh that she had grown so accustomed to surprise her first.

"What are you doing out here?" Fred asked, slowly raising his hand and gently brushing her wand down.

 _Why is it whenever I'm about to follow Malfoy I get sidelined by a Weasley?_ She thought to herself. She tucked her wand away and looked back at him. His hair was glowing amber in the moonlight, more so than it had in the bustling room. "I needed to catch my breath, if Slughorn sent one more of his little slugs for an alumni connection I might gag."

He smiled all too knowingly and he eased on the grasp of his hand. "Persistent man isn't he? Malfoy did George and I a favor gatecrashing like he did. If Filch hadn't caught him, we'd be standing there still listening to him rambling about the avenues he could place before us even though we were out of school, cheeky bastard."

She flashed him a look that she felt resembled Mrs Weasley too well because his laugh died midway again. He looked back to the door they had emerged from, "We could go back and run the risk of him setting both of us up with a Slug," she could hear the mischief in his voice, "Or—"

"Tell me what the or is," she interrupted, "I think I'd take any 'or' that didn't lead to a Minister's Under Secretary's Intern position."

"Do you trust me?" he asked, and she could feel it again, his fingers lacing between her own. When did this become a thing? Where he could intwine her hand with his and it be almost natural. "Is that a trick question?" she asked and he smirk sprung free again.

"Let me show you one of my favorite places in the castle" Fred started, guiding her before she could answer, " It'd be beautiful right now."

"What about George? Won't he wonder where you've gone off too?" she asked. She couldn't help noticing that Fred's hand gave a slight flitch in her own, "George's talking with Ginny's latest boyfriend, he'll be fine."

"Will Dean be alright?" Hermione asked as she matched her stride to his. Fred turned his face to hers and she could see a flicker of mischief in his eyes, "He's expendable."

* * *

((*))

* * *

"Believe it or not, George and I had a knack for running off and having to find places to hide when Filch would discover a prank," Fred explained as they reached the top of the tenth floor. She had been a good sport following him this far but knew it best live up to memory or there'd be hell to pay.

But he hadn't minded at all, getting to follow Hermione for a walk through the castle. He and George had wandered it enough during their time, and he had made this walk in particular a hundred times over. But a walk with Hermione— that was different—it was becoming a pleasant surprise he could make routine.

He was hoping it wouldn't become routine trying to pick up a sign or signal that she was under threat or Dark Magic's control. Dumbledore hadn't answered his letter, but he was almost of the persuasion no news was good news. She was still Hermione. Giving him tidbits of trivia on the castle she had read about. Laughing at him when he missed the invisible step on their way up to the stairs. She had loosened some of the elaborate braids that she had done on her hair and she had the frizzy halo he had grown accustomed to seeing behind a book in the common room.

"Impossible, you two are regular angels," Hermione scoffed.

"Winter of '88—Filch had a bad limp; We had popped up on his radar with a Prank that led to a fall—anyway, he was persistent as you could get when it came to the two of us. But George and I figured that the easiest way to out run him was to out climb him," he answered, tapping his wand against the lock on the door two times before jiggling loose the handle, "And when you climb, you find things."

He opened the door and followed her through it. There was a stone staircase; the wind wasn't howling, the weather they had journeyed through on their way to the castle was now peaceful, and the bright glow of the moon that had been in the corridor downstairs now shined like a morning sun from the tower's top

"Careful, the staircase may be slippery," he warned following her from behind, "We're almost there now, trust me the view—"

"For as far as we've come I'm sure its amazing," she said between steps, "That or you're pushing me off the tower. In which case I want you to know I always knew you were the evil twin."

"Not the first time I've been accused of that," he answered, "You'd be surprised how often George tells me that. But evil translates to reckless for him—apparently I don't value my life as much as he'd like me too."

He tried not to notice how she straightened up at this, and turned back to look at him, "What do you mean?"

"Remember last summer when the Death Eaters took Florean?" he asked, "I wanted to run towards the danger, not away. George will follow me into muggle dueling with the Slytherin team or throwing snow balls at Professors, If I was hell bent enough I think he'd have followed me to the fight—"

"You do know Voldemort was under that turban, right?" she prompted, as though she was urgently trying to find an excuse to change the subject. "You and George threw snow balls at Voldemort's face."

"We did, didn't we," he said with a smile, " don't go telling that to mum. That story will be saved for the grandchildren. May have been one of our finest hours."

"You've had finer since you were fourteen Fred, you just don't notice them till after the fact," she said as a matter of fact. They had reached the door that led to the outside of the tower, "Why isn't this one locked?"

"Castle's got a wonky security setting," Fred shrugged, pushing open the door to the top of the tower. "It's not quite as high as the astronomy tower, but you get a good enough view," he said, trying to watch Hermione's expression to see if he should have shown her the kitchens instead. _Nah, House Elves, she'd have them unionizing before Christmas._

The tower was high enough up and on the opposite side of Gryffindor Tower giving a vantage point the average Gryffindor would never have seen. It looked down more at the Lake then the grounds although, if you were looking from the right angle you could see the Lone Hill where he and George had tested many of their larger, more explosive products while they where at school. It was a nice spot, the hill. They had liked going up there in the spring. If you sat their long enough, you could see the giant squid coming up from its winter slumber, its puckers popping in the white waves. While the lake took up most of the landscape, he could also see the lights of Hogsmeade flickering in the distance. His hopes where right, the thick blanket of snow they had traveled on earlier looked majestic from up in the tower. The clouds had cleared and with the moonlight in looked like a field of diamonds on the ground, reflecting the moon and stars above.

"What is this place?" Hermione asked, wide eyed, looking down the castle wall. "We're right above the lake—"

"George and I figure this tower is one the founds put up to look impressive but actually has no function. I've never had any astronomy students try and head up this way."

She smiled, almost to herself, "Just your place to run and hide?"

"Oh I never hide Granger," he said, puffing out his chest ever so slightly, "But I did seek sanctuary here a couple times with Umbridge about last year. All you need is a proper disillusion charm and you can make the door one of those fake ones that are all over Hogwarts."

She brushed the snow off the stone guardrail in front of her, watching it fall down to the bottom of the wall. "I swear, this castle—you think you have all the secrets found out and then a bloody tower pops out of no where."

"Who has the language now?" Fred said, leaning next to her on the stone. He looked at her realized she wasn't wearing a jacket. He was supposed to offer her his, _wasn't that the tradition_? _You take a girl out to see something and its cold, you give her your coat?_ He started shaking off the leater and tried dumping it on her shoulders. Hand holding, he was a natural at that. But this—

She looked at him confused, "Fred, what are you doing?"

"Here, you'll catch your death," he said, echoing what his mother would say. Hermione knew better than to argue with mum, _maybe if you act like your mother—no, no don't do that…_

The jacket was still lopsided on her shoulders, her arms still not through the sleeves. "Oh and you won't? Fred I'm fine—"

"I'm Fred Weasley," he said confidently, "I'll live forever."

She turned and gave him a look as though she wanted to swat him off the tower just to prove how mortal he actually was. Instead, she tucked her arms through the jacket and zipped it up to her chin. "You better," was all she said before she folded her arms and looked back to the landscape before them.

"There, that wasn't too hard was it?" he asked, leaning again against the rail, trying to split his attention between Hermione and the view.

"It's fine, but you need to clean out your pockets, There's something jabbing me—" he could hear a rustle "What's this?" she pulled out a letter.

He didn't recognize it at first and then everything came back at once. The Letter McGonagall had given him hours earlier. Her words that it was to stay secret and be delivered in the morning.

 _Idiot,_ he swore, looking at the little white square with red wax seal. _Bloody Idiot._ He swore again, looking from the letter to Hermione's inquisitive brown eyes that shone with intrigue. _Perhaps some secrets can be shared, perhaps some secrets are meant to be shared,_ a shadow of reason suggested. _After all, could you keep a secret from Hermione?_

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* * *

AN: This chapters is long since over due; not my particular favorite (Falling Hippogriffs! What sort of title is that?! And you actually read it!?) , but updates are progress. I hope you all have and continue to have a very safe and happy 2016. Thank you all for you love and support the past few months. They mean the world. I'm sorry if I haven't responded to your reviews quite yet, we're finally slowing down at work so here's to hope!

Next Chapter: There's more than one person with a secret in the tower, will Hermione share hers? Christmas at the Burrow and in Essex. And something lurks in the New Year, a new word Harry will need to learn from Slughorn and one Hermione wishes they never had: Horcruxes and those made by Tom Riddle...


	17. Falling Secrets

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

Falling Secrets

* * *

"Fred, what is this?" she asked again as her fingers traced the outline of McGonagall's letter.

"Shopping list," he said by reflex, trying to get it out of her grasp. _For once, you wish you had monkey arms like Ron._ He could hear her laugh before he saw her face that revealed a spreading smile. " Oh right, you and George sealing your market list with wax," she stepped away from him and pulled out her wand, "Death Eaters quake at the Weasley Brother's Market List."

She started muttering a spell that sent little blue orbs dancing around them. They were small, but sent a glow of light as though they were striving to imitate the moon's glow while casting the warmth of the sun. She drew the seal close to her eyes, before looking at it again, lightly fingering the outline of a phoenix. "Fred, what is this?" she asked again her voice suddenly dropping as the humor melted away.

 _She's Hermione Granger, if anyone could keep a secret like this, it's her,_ he though to himself. She was the girl who had been at Harry's side through all the adventures. Of course, so had his brother— but even with all his shortcomings though, he knew he could trust Ron with something like this— _But—_

She hadn't seemed like it tonight, but he couldn't forget his fears he had that she hadn't been quite herself. The letter he had written to Dumbledore asking if he had noticed it as ago he would have dismissed the thought but now—

"Can I ask you a question, a Question only Hermione Granger would know?" He asked, staring at the door. He could hear her catch herself. She turned to look at him, to see if there was a joke she hadn't picked up on quite yet. She tilted her head, squaring herself with him, "Sure. So long as I can ask why." He knew that was a demand, not so much a question.

That look told him if he was wrong in his suspicions she would never let him hear the end of it. "What did I tell you when you asked George and I to come to the Hogs Head your fifth year?"

She fell back to the wall next to him, looking in the opposite view towards the lake, her eyes fixed on the hill. "You asked if I was trying to get you to buy me Fire Whiskey," she scoffed, although he thought he could hear a shadow a laugh in her words. "It was only after I said it was drinking to a Hogwarts without Umbridge you and George would listen to me."

That had to be one of his favorite memories of her. After the brothers had earned their lifetime ban from Quidditch, they spent a good share of time in either the Common Room or the trophy room on the seventh floor developing products they'd someday sell. One night after, when Ron and Hermione returned from their prefect rounds, Ron went to bed right when they got back. Harry hadn't returned from his detention with Umbridge yet, Hermione told him to go ahead and she'd wait up for Harry. His brother had disappeared upstairs when Hermione had set aside her bag and instead of settling into the chair she favored by the fire, she headed towards where they were working.

"O.W.L's driving you to drinking Hermione?" he had tutted, not even looking up from whatever it was he was working on. He set down his quill and turned to face her, "Take it from those with experience, you don't want to jump to Fire Whiskey—start on Some Maple Scotch or something like that, you'll feel like Christmas."

"And even then in small doses," George interrupted, "Less is more with that."

She had pursed her lips and he was convinced she'd soon march up the stairs and they'd be greeted the next morning with a red envelope from Mum. But instead she cast her eyes around the room and chose to stay, pulling up the chair between the two of them.

"We'll be drinking to a Hogwarts without Umbridge," she had whispered, "Why don't you put that in your Scotch and drink it. "

They had sat in a momentary silence, he and George. He looked at his brother who must have been a reflection of his own disbelief and then he looked at Hermione again. "Are you looking for an assassination Granger?" He asked, trying to read the determination that was carved in her face.

"I'm looking to making a difference," she said firmly, the fireplace reflecting in her eyes, "And I figured you would be too."

There was a moment, it seemed to him that year in particular, there was a moment when each of them had to realize what was coming, and determine where they would stand in the days to come. For Harry, it had come earlier, far earlier than when he came out of the maze with the cup and Cedric's body. For Percy, it was when he left the Burrow rather than leave his position. For Fred, and he assumed the rest of his family, it was still to come when his dad was nearly killed. But this was Hermione's moment. The Ministry had interfered with Hogwarts. The war was interfering with the education Hermione held most dear, and trying to sway it contrary to what Hermione believed in. This was her crossroads and he knew where she stood at that moment.

"Hogs Head this Saturday?" He asked, eyes level with her own.

She had smiled then, ever so faintly. She had smile and said "I'll see you at noon."

 _That_ smile was gone. Now, she had the same look on her face as Ginny did before she whipped out a jinx.

"So, tell me Fred, am I Hermione Granger?" she asked, her voice having an edge to it now as she pushed against the stone wall, "Or has Bellatrix Lestrange knicked one of my hairs and you're out here with a Death Eater?"

 _Ah if the question didn't reveal anything that just did—_ "Hermione, I just wanted to make sure—"

"Any reason in particular?"

 _You've been different since the Department of Mysteries—_ he could say. _You seemed to know about Katie before it happened. You— I can't shake the thought of you—_

Instead he looked at the letter, still in her hand. "McGonagall delivered that to George and I. Told us Dumbledore wanted us to run it to Remus," he answered in a hushed tone. "Didn't know who it was meant for herself, only that Remus would know and see that it got where it was supposed to be. He's coming over for the holidays, I'll make sure he gets it."

She didn't know that he would be running it to Remus tonight after they said good night. That this was probably one of the reasons Dumbledore allowed the twins to come back into the castle, to be human owls for the war effort. He didn't say any of that, but she seemed to be thinking ahead of him again. Hermione look of suspicion was turning to one of annoyance. "He meddles a bit, doesn't he?" She asked looking at him over the letter's top, "Dumbledore doesn't know what to do other than meddle."

There was almost an edge to her voice he hadn't remembered she had towards the Headmaster, "Suppose he does a bit. Nothing wrong with that," he said gingerly, looking over at her again, "Everything going ok?"

She looked at him hesitantly, as though she wanted so desperately to say what was in her head but was balancing the outcome. Instead, she looked away, shaking her head.

He kept his eyes on her, still unconvinced, "Is it about the book, you can tell me you know? I won't go blabbing to Ron."

A faint smile emerged from the moonlight, " The books helped," she answered, "I've been having nightmares, about the war," she said tentatively, as though she still wasn't sure what to let out of her mouth. "On and off since the accident. The book helps sort it all out. I can sort out the nightmares there."

"Mum used to say that in nightmares we pull the worse case scenario, that it's never as bad as we make it out to be," he tried to say in comfort, "We might not be able to make sense of it, but what ever it is we're facing its not near as bad as we imagined it."

The smile that had started died on Hermione's face. "But what if its not?" she sighed, "What if its worse? I—I've dreamt of Muggleborns being rounded up and sent to Azkaban. Of friends disappearing—" she looked at him, and he was met by the disturbing, mournful eyes of Hermione Granger. "Of people we know dying. Fred, what if it is worse than any of us have imagined?"

"We'll worry about that if it happens," He answered firmly. He had the strong urge to close the gap between the two of them. To hold her until the war was over and she could see he was right. "Enough of all of this Hermione. It's Christmas. We're on one of the tallest towers in Hogwarts, let's just enjoy this pocket of time shall we?"

He had hoped this would be carefree and natural as it had been earlier but her nightmares seemed to snuff out that wish like a candle. She was the first to say something, "It really is beautiful up here," she murmured, tucking her head towards his shoulder, a puff of air visible as she spoke.

 _Not the only beautiful thing—no Fred, damn it, no—_ "Should I be taking you back to the party? Your date is going to be out looking for you isn't he?" he asked, heaving out a sigh, "I promise, if he duels me to heal his pride, I'll take it easy on him."

"I came stag thank you very much," she insisted, and he could hear amused annoyance in her words, "What is it with men assuming I have to acquire one of you to have a decent evening."

Whatever feelings of snuffed out hope he had disappeared. _It's ridiculous the influence this woman has on you Fred,_ a voice he recognized in his head as George badgered, _you need Hermione to push you off this tower and back to your senses._ " Good for you," his words fell before he could, "Ron still being an arse?"

"Always," she answered, " I just didn't want to go and have an evening where I have to make pleasant conversation with someone I don't care for. Besides," she threw her gaze his way again, "If I had brought a date, I wouldn't have been able to run off with you. For this tour of the castle," she blurted out.

"You could have, I'd just have to duel someone," he joked.

She tilted her head and asked, "Why does everything end with you dueling someone for me?"

"Because," He responded, not wanting to answer anymore then that. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

She had a sad smile on her face. The one he had come accustomed to over the holidays. "Are we playing that game again?" she asked as he opened the door to descend down the castle steps.

"I don't know what you're talking about Miss Granger," he answered smugly, "Just asking a question. Knut for your thoughts?"

"Save your money, lets get back to the party before they're missing us," Hermione said as they made their way down the tower.

"The Prefect and Prankster, the rumors that they'll start," he smirked and he could imagine her eye roll as they reached the corridor below. "They'll start rumors alright," Hermione answered, " Granger and Weasley—"

"The Good looking one," he interrupted, "There's six of us, you got to be specific."

She stopped in the moonlit corridor, and looked at him, as though she was thinking it over. "No," she said after a little moment, "the one with the big Head."

"The good looking big head though, right?" he asked and Hermione started laughing, "Come on, walk me back to the main staircases, I don't want to go back to the party."

He extended his arm, taking hers just as she had taken his when he had first arrived. "Tell you what, I'll walk you back to the Common Room, follow me Granger," he said, as they disappeared down the corridor.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard.

Aside from his momentary interrogation he had put her through on the top of the castle, she had been laughing all night. But since they had left the tower they hadn't talked about the war, instead he was telling her story after story of he and George loosing eye brows with explosions and how that had inspired the draw on mustache which would exhilarate hair growth of an evening.

"So when we come back from Christmas and all the sixth and seventh year boys have dapper mustaches-"

"A gift to all the ladies of Gryffindor tower, with love from the Weasley brothers," he winked, the two of them still laughing as they reached the portrait hole.

"Oh now you've come to say goodbye," The Fat-Lady started, staring down at the two of them. "Could've let me in on your plan to leave, I had to hear about it from that oaf of a knight."

Hermione gave him a look, "Should I leave you and the Fat Lady alone?"

"Oh please no," his words blurted out too quick for comfort, " Sorry about that—kind of spur of the moment that one." Fred turned to look at Hermione, " I probably shouldn't ask if I can see you inside."

"Probably a good idea," she smiled. "Besides, your brother might be seeing if he's lost his gum in Lavender's mouth again. I don't want you to put him in the hospital wing before Holiday starts. For your mum's sake."

She noticed a look of more than annoyance cross over Fred's face. "He's a bloody idiot; I suppose there isn't a chance you'll be swinging by the Burrow for the holidays."

The last time, she had chosen to avoid the Burrow and Ron based on her logic she'd send a storm of partridges to chase him up a tree if she was anywhere near him. It she was starting to talk to Ron more and more—he was trying to make an effort to try and talk to Hermione. She didn't know if he had done that before, maybe he had and she was too hurt to notice—

"Probably not," Hermione answered, "I cut my Christmas plans short last year with my family, Mum will put me in a muggle school if I do it again this year." That was a lie. She thought. Hoped? Would her parents still be trying to persuade her to stay in Essex like they had started to last Summer?

'"Well, let me know if you do need an escape. We can always use a hand at the shop this time of year," he started. He looked as though he wanted to say something else, but was trying to think better of it.

"If I need an escape, I'll forward you my resume," she tried, and instead of turning to go into the tower, she wrapped her arms around him for an embrace.

His arms wrapped protectively around her, and she could feel them sway. He smelt of pine and a wash that couldn't quite mask the explosions from the shop. She could feel his heart beating under his shirt and she refused to believe they were numbered.

"Is this how it would have been?" he asked, warm breath tickling her ear, "If we hadn't been on each others case to grow up or laugh every moment I was in school?"

they swayed again and he laughed, "Maybe idiots run in the Weasley family."

She pulled away and shook her arms out of his jacket, " The Prefect and the Prankster, people would've talked too much."

He rolled his eyes, "We would've given them something to talk about."

"We would've," she answered, and for the slightest moment, she wondered what a friendship—or whatever it would have been—would have been like with Fred. She used to wonder, right after the war, what Fred's answers would have been around the kitchen table. She had gone so far to wondering what Fred would have said to her when she and Ron started dating. If he would have been like George, shaking his head and saying " You could've done so much better" or if he'd have said "About bloody time" like Lee.

Was this the kind of relationship she would have had with Fred, had he survived the war? A friendship, but almost richer? How many letters had she sent him since time had thrown her back? She had altered time to bring him to a Christmas party he otherwise wouldn't have attended.

 _Why Granger? What are you doing?_ The logical, practical, rule abiding Hermione seemed to badger in her head. _You know what this means, don't you?_

She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek quickly. "Happy Christmas Fred," she said in one breath. " _Gretna Green"_ she said with the same speed and disappeared into the Common Room before he could say anything else.

Because she didn't know quite well what she was doing, but she was starting to realize what it meant. And she was hoping, desperately hoping, that Fred wouldn't realize it at all.

* * *

((*))

* * *

She wasn't surprised when she woke up the next morning to find that she was the first one packed and ready for the train to depart.

Paravati and Lavender where still going through each others trunks, trying to find the right top or pair of muggle jeans to borrow for the holiday. Hermione folded her dress from the night before away and instead of offering earrings and dress coats to exchange for the coming weeks, she put on her purse and waved her wand as the small suitcase she needed for the holidays followed behind her.

She was surprised to see Harry already down there, his own small suitcase in hand. "Ron not down yet?" she asked looking up the stairs that led to the boys dormitory.

"Not yet," Harry answered, " He and Lavender were up late saying their good byes to one another," Harry explained, making a gagging noise at the end. "He was still up when you came back from the party right?"

"Didn't notice," Hermione shrugged, "I was so tired I ran straight to bed."

"Figured it was either running to bed or running away from Fred," Harry said evenly, before turning towards her with an all knowing smirk.

"Harry Potter—what on earth—"

"What's going on with you two? Really—be honest," he quipped, "I came back under the invisibility cloak, long story—"

"You were spying on me?" she asked, scandalized, her wand arm twitching. "How dare—"

"I only saw the good night!" Harry quipped, "You pecking his cheek and then running away while Fred just sort of stood there and looked amused."

The words caught her. _He looked amused? What did that even mean?_

Her reaction must have spoken more than she had, Harry shook his head and looked back to the stairs. " Listen—if you, you know—Fancy Fred, don't—just don't do it just to spite Ron."

"What did you just say?" Hermione asked, flipping her head to face Harry. "Are we really having this conversation right now Harry?"

Whenever Harry Potter got in a tight spot, he typically didn't realize it until after the fact. After he had pulled through and saved the day. She had always admired that about him. That he was fearless because, very rarely had he thought he ought to have been afraid.

This time, he was _very_ much aware.

"I'm not saying anything to Ron—" Harry said motioning his head up stairs to the dorms. "Quite frankly, its none of his business and none of mine. "

"You got that right," she interrupted, "It is _none_ of your concern—"

"Just—I don't know, be discreet until you want _him_ to know about it." He finished. Hermione was wondering how it would look in the _Prophet_ if Harry went from the Boy-Who-Lived to the Boy-Who-Died, courtesy of Hermione Granger.

"We were being discreet until some sneak started walking around under their invisibility cloak," Hermione snipped back.

"Well it was a good thing I was under that invisibility cloak, or else I wouldn't have overheard what I did," Harry muttered, turning to her again, "Hermione, have you ever heard of an unbreakable vow?"

* * *

((*))

* * *

They reached Kings Cross Station around three in the afternoon.

The scene she had witnessed last time was much more pronounced. There were some parents who had trunks of their own, waiting for their children to disembark so they could disappear forever. A common expression of worry was etched on the now stone faces of the people looking to the train windows, urgently searching for the face they had come for. There wasn't near as much chatter. Someone had decorated the platform for the holidays, but the garland and the tinsel all looked out of place amongst the stone faces and chilly glances.

Before, when she did the first time, she didn't go home for Christmas. Not this year. She had written to her parents and said that she needed to stay up at the school to prepare for her exams. It was a lie, but Mr and Mrs Granger didn't know that. Hermione had wanted to revel in a few glorious weeks where she was free to walk around the castle and not have to worry about walking into find Ron and Lavender twisted up with each other. It was selfish, but it was a way to avoid riding to Kings Cross and back with Ron. And she knew quite well Mrs Weasley would have invited her to the Burrow for part of the holiday. Staying at Hogwarts made the season less complicated.

She had regretted it a few days into the holiday. It wasn't as fulfilling as she had thought it'd be. Her regret only deepened when they were on the run. Spending Christmas in a tent, your parents not knowing you even existed—it hadn't churned happy memories. When Hermione had written her parents saying she _would_ be coming home for Christmas, saying they were planning on spending the holiday in Newcastle. It wouldn't be a Christmas at home, but it would be Christmas with those that mattered. If inviting Fred and George to Slughorn's party hadn't changed anything, a Christmas with her parents in New Castle wouldn't change anything either.

Hermione could see her parents, standing shoulder to shoulder with Mr and Mrs Weasley, Fleur and Bill. Mr. Weasley seemed to be talking with her father. Their faces where still out of place on the platform. She wondered how much they were picking up.

Mrs Weasley was taking her time to inquire if there were food shortages at Hogwarts and that's why they all looked thin.

"If they don't we should them how to knick things from the kitchen," a voice said behind her, "they're not starving. Except for a decent party perhaps."

She wiped her head around but was surprised to see George. Just George. Not Fred. Her face must have shown her surprise. He rolled his eyes and smirked, "Sorry, it's just me for company," he said, " You exhausted all your social time with Fred last night."

"Your right, I didn't bug you too much last night did I?" she responded folding her arms with feigned sympathy, "Did you have a good time at the party?"

"Now that you ask, I did have a good time. Met a few pompous slugs interested in investing and sucking our livelihoods, but I snuck half of a nosebleed nougat in one of their plates and that to care of that. Come to think of it that was right before Freddie came back, wonder if it ever stopped, " he winked, looking over her head to see the full family reunion.

"Fred keeping the store?" she asked, looking on the scene herself.

"Had to run something for the Order, but oyu know about that," George said, still looking on, "He said he'd meet us here but he must have been delayed."

An unexpected chill ran down her arms, leaving goose bumps in their wake, "Must have been delayed. Maybe—"

Her father interrupted her, "Come on Hermione, we're going to miss our own train."

She looked at George and he slighted his head toward her parents, "I'll give him your regards. Have a Happy Christmas Hermione."

Mrs Weasley gave her hug as they stood in the queue to pass through the barrier. Her parents passed through first and there was a moment as she waited to follow that she hoped Fred would suddenly appear.

"Your turn Miss," the conductor smiled, nodding her to go through. _Happy Christmas Fred,_ she thought before she too disappeared into the muggle world.

* * *

AN: Look! I actually updated somewhat regularly this week!

I had hoped I would have had matched my updates to the season...but we're probably two weeks or so behind. I'm going to try and do my best to get us back on track by February. Nothing's worse than Christmas in January...

Next Chapter: The Grangers are going to find that Newcastle is not the diversion they thought it would be and what exactly was the letter that Fred had for Remus? An unexpected guest finds their way to the shop on Diagon Alley and we find that what things were thought to be certain may be the least certain of all...

Thank you for all your love and support. I hope you are all having a safe and happy 2016. Until next time- KH


	18. Falling Comforts

Chapter 18

* * *

Falling Comforts

* * *

Fred could hear voices getting heated before he knocked on the door.

In hindsight, he ought to have tried to over hear and access the situation better before he knocked. For all he knew, Remus was being interrogated by a Death Eater who preferred to start the day with a murder rather than end it with one. Fred could hardly blame the early morning killer, the house was quite distant from the village itself. No one would think twice if they heard noises coming from the house, impart because the house was out by itself, as though it had ostracized itself much like its occupants had.

The former professor lived in the small village of Hay-on-Wye, which straddled the boarder of England and Wales. His father had told Fred this was the house that Remus's parents had bought not long after they realized their child was a werewolf. None of the villagers could hear if screams came from the tiny house, let alone peak in as interrogative neighbors. They just knew in that house lived a sickly boy who's family had moved there for the weather. If you didn't know the tragic story of the person that lived there, it looked like any other house that had faced its share of storms. But Fred knew the story and wondered now, staring at the scratches on the door, if it was a childhood pet or young Remus who made that mark on the door between them.

He knocked again and the voices stopped. One higher voice shushing the other. He saw thin, slender fingers fiddle with the drapes. _Does Remus have company?_ Fred panicked. He hadn't thought of this. Remus never discussed his personal life. Part of Fred thought whatever personal life he once had was taken from him on a cold Halloween Night many years ago. What shadow that had remained disappeared along with Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. _But obviously you're wrong— because that's definitely a lady friend's hand…_ he thought as the shadow of a silhouette now backed away from the window.

The letter, Fred determined, better be damned important.

A shuffle of feet from inside, and Remus opened the door. "Fred—" his eyes dancing up and down the yard, he could see his Professor grapple for what must have been his wand on the inside ledge, "—what's the matter?"

Fred tried to pull the letter out of his jacket. It had been just a flimsy piece of paper but now it felt thick and heavy as though it was weighing him down while sticking to his fumbling fingers. Really he could have just hand it over and turn around. That's what he should do. Hand it, be done with it, and let Remus go back to his lady— _Like hell you could do that, you're too bloody curious,_ George mocked in his head. Remus saw the letter and seemed to know what it was, quickly ushering Fred inside, his eyes still fixed on what may be shadows retreating in the morning's horizon.

The house looked as though it had been undisturbed. Everything was in its place, and looking as though it hadn't been occupied in quite sometime. The picture frames on the walls all looked like they had been taken twenty years before, many of them showing the life of a tall, handsome man who resembled Remus and a woman of similar height with kind Welsh eyes. The others told the story of the little boy who had grown up to be a man in the house; a few shared with childhood friends—three particular friends who caught his eyes.

All of the photos were lost to decades past, except for one on the bookcase by the stairs: that was Sirius, Harry and Remus the year before, Christmas at Grimmauld Place. That photo seemed the most haunting of all. He supposed that was the last he'd seen Sirius alive, merrily laughing with Remus at Harry's Butterbeer Mustache. It had also been the last time the three of them had been together before Sirius had died. The last night before they had been sent back to school. If it wasn't for the lack of dust around it, he could have almost mistaken Harry for his Father—he wondered if Remus did the same.

The hallway led to the kitchen where a gleam of light shone on the woman. She was putting on her coat; headed towards the door. She had bumped into him as he was looking at the Christmas photo. When he retracted his gaze and met her eyes, he found them more familiar than he had supposed.

"Wotcher Fred," she winked, tugging at her leather jacket's collar. She was sporting a dark brown bob today, less mousy than last he'd seen her. Her face was thinner as well, as though the months since the Department of Mysteries had beaten her down until she was too worn to get up.

"Tonks what are you—?"

She paused at the door to get a bag that was hanging on the hook. Making a point not to gaze at Remus whose gaze was pulled from the dangers of the outside world to Tonks at his side. "Thanks for the advice, Remus," her voice was strained like her face, turning to look at the old Professor.

"I hope you'll listen to it this time," Remus replied, holding the door open for her as she went "Take care of yourself Dora," he said watching as she disappeared down the walk, her hand waving as she kept her face forward. Fred didn't want to know what was going on between the two, but knew that Ginny's hope of Bill and Tonks would be dashed if she had been standing in the house right now and not Fred. He wondered who else knew about the two of them. Even Ron would be able to recognize this, if he could be here watching Remus standing in the door, supporting himself by holding the door beam, waiting until he heard the tell tale pop of her departure into the morning mist.

"Sorry I should have sent an owl ahead of myself," Fred apologized when Remus left the door and walked towards the kitchen, Fred trailing behind him. There was a kettle on the stove, not quite whistling yet—he supposed Tonks must have put it on before she left, two cups sitting next to the stove top.

"These days its better if you don't," Remus sighed, glancing at the cups and pulling two spoons the drawer and a chipped sugar pot. "There's a reason Dumbledore has us passing letters—" he said, gesturing to Fred's pocket. "They're less likely to be intercepted on a person then they are an owl these days."

"Have they started doing that?" Fred asked. Although he considered himself a member of the Order, this was really the first true assignment he felt he had. They didn't meet as they used to. It was to be conspicuous, some said. Protect covers and identities, but that was codswallup if he had ever heard it.

Remus nodded, "At the start of last summer, shortly after Amelia Bones was killed; she wasn't an official member of the Order, but she had her sympathies for us—she'd sway things in our favor in the Wizengamot. Dumbledore was informed there was a threat. Had made arrangements to get her into hiding but—there were some owls that may have been intercepted and false letters circulated by the enemy—Well, that's another story. Let's see the letter."

Fred took the letter out and set in on the table. Eyeing it like a time bomb. Remus took his wand and tore the side down, and then waved over the kettle and cups to join them at the table. "Help yourself Fred, there's some milk in the fridge if you'd like—"

He got up and put a little bit of milk in his cup, just a smudge, and let it steep a little bit longer. He was focusing more on Remus' face than he was his tea. It didn't look as grave as he thought it would, but perhaps everyone's face was already grave and anything more would be considered drastic.

"I thought the letter was for someone else? That we were middle men ?" Fred started, gesturing to wards the letter. "McGonagall made it sound as though someone was going to be picking it up from you."

"They will be," Remus said, tucking the letter back in its envelope. "Like I said, Dumbledore doesn't have faith in the owls anymore; Communication between fireplaces—we've had too many close calls," he looked at the letter and shook his head, "and we can hardly send out an Order of the Phoenix newsletter. Every now and again, Dumbledore will send a courier with news. I match that with reports and send him back an analysis of the two and we forward that to those in the field." He shrugged, the crinkled letter between the two of them. "To be completely honest Fred, this is most likely one of the last letter runs we'll do until we're able to train everyone in Patronus messages. Have your parent's taught you how to do them yet?"

He nodded—it was a partial truth. He knew how to conjure the patronus, but he wasn't yet sure how to get it to stay there and forward a message to someone else. The nod turned more into a shrug, "I know the theory, just haven't had a need to execute it quite yet."

Remus nodded slowly, "You'll want to. Practice with George for now. Dumbledore's said it and I agree—it's going to get much worse than it gets better."

 _Well this has been a cherry conversation. Thank you Professor for bringing hope of a new day, you're always so good at that,_ Fred wanted to say. But instead he dared farther, "What does the letter say?" he asked.

The Professor raised an eye brow, "Classified," he answered simply. 'It's safe to say the letter has come through a trusted handler."

"Messenger can't know what he's carrying?" Fred asked again.

"Not this time," Remus chided, although this time with a sympathetic "But you'll know well enough; keep an eye out in the Prophet."

Fred sat down at the table, "George and I haven't gotten to do anything for the Order since we joined, " annoyance bubbling through him, he could only imagine how juvenile he sounded. " Is there something—anything we could do?"

Remus stirred his tea looking up briskly, "Your work for the morale of the public is contribution enough," he said evenly, " Its a Public Service that few others could do."

"Selling Peruvian Instant Powder to sixteen year olds isn't going to stop the war though," Fred challenged, "What good is a joke shop when it's doubling as a defense arsenal least the world implodes over night? There has to be something else we could be doing."

"Staying alive is the first step," Remus started, clearing his voice, " and the second is waiting for Orders to follow. Trust me, your time will come Fred and when it does, you're going to wish it was working in your store. Someday morale won't be easy to sustain—but hope, hope will be vital to keep us going during the war. Keep giving people that." Remus pointed at another ghostly picture of four teenagers by the Hogwarts lake, hanging on the wall, "War comes for us all, there's nothing wrong with not rushing to meet it as it comes to us all."

"But you can't hide from it, standing on the sidelines while the missing and murdered notices fill up the _Prophet_ everyday," Fred blurted out. "My tombstone's going to read _Here Lies Fred Weasley who did nothing to stop Death from Falling_ ,at the rate I'm going. We're supposed to do something, aren't we? Not just sit here and write letters that are to be dropped off in back alleys and in between pages of dusty books?"

Remus' spoon clattered against the table, " If you go a structured path, an _Order_ path you're less likely to compose an epitaph," Remus looked as though whatever he and Tonks had spoken about, coupled with this, was enough to drive him back to bed. "Talk with Dumbledore, become a courier and ferry letters for now—but don't rush into something like an idiot, wands blazing. That's a sure fire way to get you killed. Trust me—I've seen a few of my friends take that route."

Fred sat there, blood pounding in his ears like frustrated drums. "We could hide letter in products. Couple it as a Delivery from the shop. All that business from the Ministry, we have packaging that can be more discreet than orange boxes and purple trim. Hell, we could even design a way to send secret messages so you could have a bloody newsletter if you wanted."

"I'll suggest it to Dumbledore, that could be just what we need," Remus responded. He patted the letter and looked at Fred. "I can tell you though—You need to be on your guard the next few weeks. We've gotten some intelligence that Death Eaters are planning attacks in the major cities, wizard shopping areas during the Holiday. We were able to weed out enough information to stop the attacks in London and Bristol, but we don't know if those were the only two or if there were more. They've declared war on our sympathizers in the Ministry; it won't be long before they declare it on the children next. With all the muggleborns home for Christmas, they're going to make sure there are open seats when the Hogwarts Express heads north again."

 _All the muggleborns home for Christmas_ —"Any cities in particular?" Fred asked, trying to remember the town she had told him, "Any in Essex?"

"When we apprehended the two circles, they wouldn't tell us anymore than Bristol or London. But we're keeping watch in Nottingham and Devonshire—those have higher Muggleborn populations," Remus opened a book from across the table, looking through and tapping the bottom of the list, "Essex wasn't one of the threatened areas."

"Can I volunteer to keep an eye on it then?" he asked, "Not planning on rushing in with my wand blazing a hex. Just keep an eye on a town—"

Remus looked more confused than anything else, "I just said it wasn't on the watch list?"

"You also said the Death Eaters only admitted to attacks in London and Bristol. If you'd like, I'll keep tabs on the Essex region. Oliver Wood said a few of the Puddlemore guys are going to be there for the Holidays, their chasers are all muggleborn."

Remus Lupin stared at him for an uncomfortable amount of time. As though he was trying to carefully craft the words that would talk Fred off this dangerous cliff he was so desperate to jump from. "I don't care how much you do or do not watch Essex, but don't you dare get yourself killed, I'm not explaining that to your mother."

Fred gave a nod, and put his teacup in the sink. He said he had to meet up with George to go over some things before they opened the shop for the day, and there was still the matter of trying to meet the train as it came in.

What none of them seemed to realize yet, it wasn't a _what_ that was in Essex, so much as there was a _who._ He knew quite well Puddlemore wasn't going to be in the area, but knew there was going to be a girl who had worn the blue dress the night before and laughed with him on the tower as the snow fell down.

And in a way, that seemed enough to barge into fight, to jump off any cliff, to cover any falling walls.

* * *

((*))

* * *

It had been one of the best Granger Family Christmas Holidays since Hermione had left for Hogwarts.

In hindsight, that should have been her first sign that there was danger on the horizon.

But in the moments that had made up the Granger's holiday in Newcastle, there wasn't any hindsight. There was just her parents taking her through the city where they had met. The two of them taking Hermione to the University Commons and buying her a new sweatshirt with the school's name and crest cast against the blue. They had talked about getting her the purple one for the medical school, but Hermione favored the blue one saying she was still _undecided._

They had had _the_ talk again. The one of what she as going to do when she finished her studies at Hogwarts. They refused to believe that seven years of formal education was _it_ when it came to the wizarding world. "You should try for Newcastle Hermione," her mother had pointed out as they sat amidst the red brick buildings following a surprised tour her parents had put her on after they had robed her in the sweatshirt. "You can prepare for your A-Levels this summer. We can get a tutor for you if you like, just to bring you up to speed and offer tips— it won't hurt either that your father and I make you a legacy—"

Before, when they had this conversation, Hermione was always quick to change the subject. She had dealt with it head first a few years earlier and lied to them by saying there was a Wizarding University in London, but they had actually discussed the topic with McGonagall following her career meeting and she had nearly been grounded the entire summer for that lie. She never wanted to let her parents think they had that option, because then she'd have to disappoint them yet again with another life milestone swept under the magical rug. It was just difficult to explain why she couldn't go to a school where she was carrying her wand in the pouch of her hoodie.

 _But this time,_ she thought to herself—it was awkward enough returning to Hogwarts after the smoke had cleared and the castle was still under construction. She couldn't imagine what it would be like going back mentally a 21 year old. It would feel like College. Remedial College. She would be lying if she was _actually_ considering it, but there were a lot of schools. What better place to escape the paparazzi. She could even go abroad if she wanted. There was this University her great-Aunt Emma had attend in America—Brown something—no one would know Hermione Granger over there. She could disappear into glorious oblivion until she corrected the timeline—the hell if Muggle College utterly derailed that timeline.

"We'll talk about it more this summer," Hermione told her parents, believing the lie herself. Why couldn't she? When her parents were working she'd be studying. It would take her mind off what was to come—wiping their memories and sending them away to be safe. Looking at her surroundings, she almost let herself think she could come back when the war was over. Newcastle wasn't bad. It was closer to the Weasleys and Harry than Brown would be. _But what exactly are you going to be studying, Finance with an emphasis on Goblin Relations? Marketing in Muggle and Magical Business?—_ she wanted to ask herself. But then the words came out before she registered them " I should be able to get the tests situated before I leave again."

Her dad gave a smile and put his arm around her as the three Grangers made their way off Campus towards Market Street, "I'm holding you to that Hermione. Lets get some dinner to celebrate. "

While the Market Street had been all done up for Christmas, it was really the New Years Market now. The shops that had been all done up with elaborate window displays and the shop on the corner had set up a little German Christmas stall with wooden windmills rotating in perfect clock work gears framing a nativity. Those were gone now, and in their stead were other woodwork items, jewelry boxes, drawers and trap boxes.

The family had eaten at one of the little restaurants that had survived since her parents university days. They had strolled through a few more stores. It was the day after new years. The holiday crowd was starting to thin out; in full honesty it was they had only one day left now. Crowds were a minimum. Tomorrow, they'd go down to the shoreline and rent a boat, sail around for a little bit before retreating to the shops to warm up with their tea mugs. Then they'd wake up the next day and get on the train down home where she would have a weekend before she had to return to Kings Cross Station.

"Come on sweetheart, there's a book store around the next corner," her dad called as they headed out of the music store. She followed, awkwardly trying to tuck her wand in the paper sack she and gotten from the store. A bag was better than it looking out of her pouch. She had thought about just making the sweatshirt larger so she could tuck it in the arm or deepen the pocket. She had debated bringing the wand at all, but had to remind herself she didn't have the trace anymore and there was a war going around. Whether in her pouch or her bag, she needed to have her wand with her. If even if it was for paranoia.

The noise was so loud, so unexpected at first, Hermione was convinced it was a car backfiring up the street. It was possible. But cars that backfired didn't backfire in jets of purple or green light.

She threw her eyes down to where the wooden trinket tents had been set up, In their place was billows of smoke and flames. Screams echoing against the clatter of feet against the cobblestone. "Get down!" Hermione called, yanking both her parents behind the truck as she dug through her brown paper bag and retrieved her wand.

" _Protego!"_ Hermione bellowed, casting her spell at a Death Eater raising his arm at a muggle family scurrying into a curry shop. " _Conjunctivitis!"_

"Hermione," her dad called from beside her " We need to get off the street, we're exposed—"

They had the height from the truck they were behind. So long as she could cast spells discreetly, _no, eventually, they'll find you._

She rummaged through the bag to find the little music box her dad had just bought her. "I've never tried this one before—well other than for my O. " she muttered, more to herself than to them. There was explosion too close to the car, cobblestones pulled from their beds raddled as they were throne against the building, falling down to the hiding Granger's feet. Her mum shrieked and she saw her grip her father's arm _"Evan—"_

" _Portus"_ she said evenly, watching the blue light surround it. That was illegal. Magic infront of muggles was illegal. But she'd have to survive tonight in order to get the letter from the Ministry telling her to surrender her wand.

"On the count of three, we all reach the box, understand? It'll take us back to the flat," she said, "Once we're there I'll put up the defensive spells and we should be alright. Do you understand?" she asked, staring at her parents, "On three."

" _One—Two—"_

A Death Eater emerged from the front of the truck, She couldn't see the face from behind the tarnished silver mask, but she could make out the bright, blue, haunting eyes. The arm raised with wand pointing at her mum, "Avada—"

" _Three!"_ she bellowed and the three Granger's disappeared before the green light filled the street.

* * *

((*))

* * *

She slipped some sleeping drought in their tea once they got back to the room, one that she had made before the term ended incase she had nightmares—with any luck it would help block out any they'd have tonight. While she was putting up the same spells she had put up they year she had spent on the run they had taken it and retired for bed, holding her close before they fell asleep. They'd be safe for the night. She was sure the blue eyed Death Eater she had seen, the one that had almost killed her mother wouldn't try again tonight, but there was no doubt in her mind that they _would_ try again.

And they might try when she wasn't there to protect them.

In full honesty, she had worried about her parents safety since the summer after her third year. The year before she had realized just how strongly some in the magical community could hate people like her. That summer they had gone to France and it was just the distraction she needed. But the next year at the Quidditch World Cup, she began to think of it again. She'd have nightmares where it was her parents she saw in the air, helpless to the jeers of masked men below.

She had thought of dozens of ways to keep them safe. Flee the country. New Identities. Kwikspell to make them look like proficient squibs—she had even thought about having them be magical but choose to live like muggles out of enthusiasm like Arthur Weasley. But there had only been one option that would be believable. One that would be the best guarantee for her parents survival.

It was her only option then, and it was her only option now.

Hermione sat in her room of the flat they had rented for the holiday. Her wand resting next to her. Waiting to do what needed to be done. She stared at it as though it would answer the questions she had. _This hadn't happened last time._ None of this had happened. There hadn't been an attack in Newcastle. Her parents had stayed in Essex for Christmas. She had been stuck in the castle. She had wished, desperately wished, that she had gone home to see them. How many nights had she regretted it when she and Harry were on the run?

 _It doesn't make any sense,_ she wanted to bellow to anyone who might be listening from the floors of heaven, _How did going on a Christmas holiday with her parents end up this way?_

 _Had they seen her get off the train? Had that given them the idea? What better way to mess with the war effort than killing one of Harry Potter's best friends and her family? Harry would never forgive himself and end up pushing away the people that would want to help him._

Now the plan for Harry would be their plan of action for Hermione. What better way to damage Hermione Granger than kill her parents? Or perhaps they'd keep them alive, and they would be spending their next Christmas with the Longbottoms.

 _Nothing ever happens the same way twice,_ she thought, staring at the wand. Her parents would be asleep by now. Their bags were already packed, they were leaving town in the morning.

But they weren't returning to Essex.

They were leaving for Australia.

She had taken the train tickets and made them plane tickets. They'd fly out of the airport in Newcastle and land in Melbourne. After that, she wasn't sure where Wendell and Monica Wilkins would end up. Maybe she would find them in Brisbane like she had last time. Or maybe she'd find them in Sydney. _Or maybe you won't find them…_

They were going to be on vacation, and fall in love with Australia. They would put the house up for rent, and have an indefinite leave of absence from their practice. She'd have to do some wand work at the house and the office, make the deeds match their new names. _But they'll be safe—you won't have to worry about them—_

She picked up her wand and grabbed the bag Fred had given her back in August. All of her belongings where already in there, ready to disappear with her on the Knight Bus once she had finished her work. There wouldn't be a trace of her once she left.

She slowly opened their bedroom door and paused, her wand out as though she still wasn't sure. Before, she had every detail of her summer meticulously planned out. When she was sent back, she knew she would have to do this again, and she had thought maybe this time she would have someone by her side to help her. Perhaps she'd confide in someone who could talk her off the edge and make her see reason and a loophole she had previously overlooked. She didn't think she would be saying good-bye to them six months early.

Hermione Granger raised her wand and muttered the damning word.

" _Obliviate—"_

* * *

AN: I'm alive!

First off, thank you for all you darlings who have reviewed/followed/favorited this story over the past two months. You are all little cheerleaders who are fantastic and worth your weight in gold.

Secondly, I've been grappling with this chapter for the last few weeks. My poor friends have been subject to "Is this too out there?" and "Is this jumping the gun?" but I'm going to stand by this. At least until you lot start hurling cabbages at me...

Ultimately, this is one of those defining " _Magic comes with a price"_ and " _Dangerous things happen to wizards who mess with time"-_ we'll touch on this more in the coming chapters. Same with Remus and Fred. I know, this may have been two unexpected curve balls, but they are necessary. . . I'm sorry we weren't able to keep to calendar, but the next 5 chapter have their bulleted outline, so updates may be more consistent. _That being said:_ they just updated the overtime calendar and I'm going to be swamped till Easter, but you can't get rid of me that easily...

Next Chapter: Fred finds a familiar face in the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione grapples with what has happened to the timelines and a very important bracelet finds its way to her wrist...

Until next time- KH.


	19. Falling In

AN: Edited after night shift. Sorry...

HAPPY BIRTHDAY FRED AND GEORGE! Have an update!

* * *

Falling In

* * *

The purple double decker arrived on her street the moment she pulled out her wand. She knew it would. She lifted the small suitcase she had packed, one of her father's old briefcases his initials still embossed in gold on the leather, and stepped into the familiar routine.

"Where to love?" the new conductor asked, whipping out her ticket book with one hand and the hole punch in the other.

"Hogsmeade Station," Hermione answered, shifting the weight of the case into her other hand, "Hogwarts front door would be better but—"

"Not likely," The conductor nodded sympathetically, tucking one of the loose black curls under her cap "You're lucky 'Ogsmeade is still part of the route. Ministry's debating next month whether 'r not its safe to allow transport so ne'er the school."

"Right," Hermione said, taking her ticket and dropping her pay into the dish before headed to one of the open seats. The conductor nodded to the driver and they began their zip through the evening air. Hermione was exhausted. All she wanted was to crawl into her room in Gryffindor Tower and sleep there until Ginny came in to tell her the war was over, her brothers had survived and all was well. But that wasn't something she was going to be allowed. Least of all on the Knight Bus.

In Stan Shunpike's absence, the Knight Bus had a new conductor. Black curly hair that tumbled out of her cap and around her shoulders. A thick cockney accent Hermione had only heard when she traveled to London for school shopping. She seemed to take more pride in her appearance than Stan, and had her sleeves rolled up to her elbows as though she was showing with confidence that not all conductors were Death Eaters.

The Conductor walked by again, this time seeing if Hermione needed anything from a toothbrush to a teckle tart. She was just about to return to her post when her eyes narrowed on Hermione, as though she was trying to place her somewhere. "You look familiar, what did you say your name was?"

"Lucie Darnay, just headed back early from the Christmas holidays," she lied, hoping she seemed annoyed enough for the conductor to leave her alone. She gave a sort of approving _mhm_ before she walked away again to check on a first time rider.

Hermione had her alias all set up. It had been simple really. It was stepping into an act she had created the summer before.

But in other ways, in ways relating to her emotions, everything seemed so much harder. It was as though she was sealing her parents and a part of herself in an imaginary tomb. She knew how it could end, that was the only thing that kept her going when she walked out the hotel in Newcastle. The Knight Bus had picked her up then, whisking her down to her home in Essex where she passed out in her bedroom before she was able to take off her shoes.

When daylight came in the morning light, Hermione knew she had only a matter of time before someone would notice her in the house. If not Death Eaters, the neighbors she had grown up around. Yes, she had been forced into advancing the modifications of her parents memories, but that didn't mean her hand was forced in what was to come next.

There was still a week before she was expected back at school. She could easily stay at the Leaky Cauldron, locked up in a room by her own accord, not seeing anyone, not going anywhere—keeping such a low profile the sheets wouldn't notice she was there. It was a practical plan, but she didn't want to be in large, magical or muggle populations. She was still jittery. Hermione had forgotten how the war had played on her nerves. She came off calm but she was on edge. If a family could be tracked down on vacation, she felt it was asking for danger to be sleeping above a pub.

As easily as she could fall into physical danger, she could only imagine the emotional disruption to her psyche should she go through her other option. She could show up on Molly Weasley's door step. Tell them that there had been something urgent at the clinic and her parents had to cut vacation short. Everyone with the exception of Harry would believe what lies she came up about dentistry—and in full honesty, Hermione had noticed the Dursleys had been too relaxing of Harry's dental habits, he'd probably believe her lies as well.

But Molly would know there was something else. That something was the matter.

Somehow, she always knew. And before _she_ knew it, Hermione would be telling her everything. Mrs. Weasley had suspected something had been done to hide the Grangers, but it wasn't until wars end she learned what Hermione had done. Hermione had always assumed it was the muddled hustle of planning a child's funeral that had spared her a lecture. But she couldn't let her know, because Harry might find out. And he didn't need to know this yet.

It needed to look as though Hermione had a normal holiday but had to cut it short rather unexpectedly. No Death Eaters, no modified memories. A casual, traditional, almost boring holiday—of no account or importance.

But Hermione needed to confide in someone who, she hoped would understand, and would be able to give her answers.

She needed to go to Hogwarts.

She _needed_ to speak with Dumbledore

When she had first woken up in the past, when all the snow and debris from the avalanche sent her cascading through the years, it had taken her almost three months to seek help from Dumbledore. As soon as she finished getting her parents affairs in order, it had taken all of three days. She had owled him the evening after she cleaned the house and there was a reply waiting the next morning. She opened it to find an invitation to use the Hogsmeade Station Fireplace at her earliest convenience and to come back to the school.

Whatever hostility she had towards the man the last time they'd spoke she hoped, had or would melt away. She had so many questions and if there were any answers, she could only assume they would come from him. The bus came to a bumping halt.

"'Ogsmeade Station for Lucie Darnay," the conductor called out and, remembering to grab her suitcase, Hermione got off and disappeared into the evening light.

((*))

Hermione had gone thru the events of the attack so many times in her head that by the time Dumbledore asked her to go through them for him, her responses were automatic and contrite.

She lead him through their day at the University. The tour led by a student from Kent. Getting a light lunch at the University Commons. Their shopping on Market Street, the little wood shop where Dad had bought the trinket that became their lifesaving portkey. How they had left the shop and were headed up the street to second hand book store next to the restaurant dad wanted to drop by when they heard the explosion that raddled the street before the Death Eaters raddled them all.

"How many did you see?" Dumbledore asked "Were they in their common clothes or were they in Death Eater Robes?"

"Three," Hermione answered, "Two were at the mouth of the street where the tents had been set up around the German Shop. I don't know where the third one came from, only that he was the one that found my parents and I. They were masked—I didn't see the other two as clearly but the one that came after us was wearing a tarnished silver one—as though it hadn't been worn in a very long time. Or at least, not properly maintained."

Dumbledore sat for a moment, looking at Fawkes as though he expected the bird to give him some answers or guidance. "Tarnished mask, any distinctive clothing?"

"Just black—They had probably been on the street waiting for something," Hermione answered "Maybe they were waiting for us? Do you think that we were the target or it just happened—"

"I think," the weary Professor answered, leaning into his chair and looking down at the _Daily Prophet_ in front of him "Nothing has or ever _just happens_ when its related to one of you three, Miss Granger." He pushed the paper towards her, and Hermione noticed that it was the _Prophet_ the day following the attack. Rather than the Newcastle attack being bolded in the center of the front page spread, it was tucked towards the bottom, a photograph of burning tents sending their smoke up the twilight sky.

"There's not a dark mark—" Hermione started excitedly "No one died?"

"It appears that way. Which in many ways is a good thing," Dumbledore agreed, but looking back at the paper had a sad expression, "But that tells me that they were after someone and they got away."

She scourged the paper looking for some small detail, there was no magical eyewitnesses. The Department of Magical Law Enrofcement arrived on the scene and the Death Eaters were gone. They had to perform memory charms on muggles who had seen the attack. One eye witness, before having their memory revised said they had seen an eeriee blue light from behind a milk truck, causing officials to believe here had been someone of magical abilities on the street. The paper said they were searching for the caster of this spell in hopes to get a better account on the attack, but at the same time were admitting only one witness had reported the light and wasn't convinced there actually was a portkey. Registered Witches and Wizards in the area had been interviewed but no one admitted to being on Market Street that night.

"Last time," Hermione said evenly, glancing at the paper again, "Last Christmas I stayed at Hogwarts. I didn't go home. How could—" her words fell flat, "How could going home for Christmas cause all this? I've meddled with time already—I went Stag to Slughorn's Christmas party, nothing too significant—what have I done to cause this?"

"Did your family encounter anyone on the platform when the train arrived back in London?" Dumbledore probed, " Maybe not interacted, but could anyone have known you were going on Holiday to Newcastle?"

"Dad said that we needed to catch our train," Hermione groaned, her hand fidgeting with her hair, "But who—I don't know _who_ would have followed us. The Death Eater that attacked us in Newcastle had blue eyes—light, clear blue eyes. They looked young—he had a male voice—"

"There were several members of the Order that were stationed on the platform that afternoon. Many of them reported that there were several either suspected Death Eaters or those with sympathy to Voldemort that were on the platform as well. Lupin tailed a few that were following the Creevey family. He ended up driving them home, taking them to another train station during the rush hour, they got lost in the crowd—"

"Why didn't anyone do that for my family?" Hermione asked heatedly, more so than she had anticipated. "I'm glad someone was their for the Creeveys, but what about the Grangers?"

The Headmaster looked at her sympathetically, "It was an oversight. Tonks followed from a distance and saw that you boarded your train safely. Fred Weasley kept a voluntary watch on your neighborhood in Essex that first week of Holidays. Didn't have anything to report out of the ordinary the first few days."

 _Fred—_ "Did he see anything after a while?"

Dumbledore pulled out a crimson file and pulled out scrawling notes that she could only suppose were Fred's. "Fred stayed the first few days. When he realized your house was empty he returned to his other duties. Tonks remained stationed in Essex and reported that someone came into the Dental Office asking to set up an appointment with your father for a tooth extraction and the receptionist said it would have to wait till after the New Year as your family was on Holiday in Newcastle. By the time I got her report news of Newcastle came to my desk."

"That's how they knew than," she said crestfallen. _Fred tried to keep you safe—he tried to keep tabs—_

"Where are your parents now Miss Granger? The Order can go through extreme measures to keep them safe. We know their not back in Essex, they haven't been seen since Newcastle—you give their location and they'll be taken care of from this moment forward."

"I went through my own extreme measures," Hermione replied, "If you found them, they wouldn't know anything about Hermione Granger, Hogwarts or the Order."

Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled as the meaning of her words dawned on him, "You modified their memories, didn't you?"

Everything came rushing out after that.

How she had came up with an alias so to hide her parents and take care of their business while they were gone. Lucie Darnay became an imaginary middleman. That was the name she had put on the deed to her parents house, the lawyer that had been hired by the Grangers to sell the Dentist office to her father's partner. Some of that money would go into Lucie Darnay's newly opened bank account that would continue to pay bills on the house, the rest of it was being transferred to the newly renamed Wilkins accounts.

In ways, taking care of these details were easier than they had been before. She had gotten to be very comfortable doing confounding charms, especially at the bank. Her non-verbal spell work had vastly improved since before. When it came to the house, she had cleaned out the fridge the morning after her arrival had done a deep cleaning that entire day and then covered the furniture with white linen, closed the blinds and went through each room casting the same spells she had used all those times they were in the tent. The house had every protection spell, save the Fidelius Charm. There was no forwarding address. No Paper trail that would lead an investigating Death Eater to where her parents had went. There was only a name, Lucie Darnay, represented by the firm of Carton & Stryver, 1793 Old Bailey Street London.

"As for Hermione Granger—I haven't appeared on the school roles since I was eleven. When term ends, I'll buy a plane ticket to New York and make it look like I'm enrolled at Ilvermorny or the Salem Witches Institute. A lot of mugglborns flee this summer, the enemy knows I would never leave Harry or the Order but it might buy us some time," she said once her story was done.

Night had fallen on the grounds, and she could see the fresh flakes coming down from the sky as well, just like the last time she was at the castle. Dumbledore sat there quietly, as though he too was pondering what next to say. "To be brave for so many other's sake," he looked at Fawkes, shaking his head, "Sometimes I wish we had allowed you all to be children rather than the heroes you've become. It is old men who declare the wars and young ones who must fight them," Hermione saw the wrappings on his hand and the purple tips that were withered and maimed.

"It was naive of us to assume we could contain a time stream, that we could keep events on course the way we hoped," Dumbledore continued. "What we can, and must do is keep the fundamental events the same. Harry must search for the Horcruxes. They must be destroyed. Voldemort must be defeated—these are the prime objectives. You must continue on that line and help Harry complete it."

Fawkes cooed in agreement and for a moment Hermione thought she saw a tear in her Professor's eyes as he spoke, "I will complete my own time line, and following those events set to take place in June, I'll go to a far greater rest than I have ever known and wait for you all there. But for you Miss Granger, " Hermione had to look away but she felt his sad gaze upon her, "After what happened in Newcastle, for you fear the road will be harder than it was before."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Fred brushed the snow from his shoulder as he entered the castle, pulling off his hat with mild annoyance.

This wasn't the first letter he had ferried to McGonagall. He had already come back with three letters from Remus since the castle had emptied for the holidays. Typically he was able to Floo into one of the many fire places in the castle, a few always attached in case of an emergency to the Floo Network. But the students where coming home today and in lieu of how jammed the network was going to become, Remus had advised appparating to Hogsmeade and journeying by carriage to the castle.

He couldn't be too annoyed at Remus. Surely he couldn't know that there was a blizzard up north and that he would walk into the castle bringing half the storm on his back. But Fred was annoyed for other reasons.

He thought he was going to see her today.

He had a hope, deep in the back of his head that perhaps her silence of three weeks had cured him of any feelings he had for her. It was the only prayer that seemed to make any sense. They had gone from almost weekly letters to silence. He had meant to send her the Time Turner, it was in his pocket now—but at this rate she wouldn't get it until the end of term. He never knew where to send it.

 _She wasn't in Essex,_ he told himself, _perhaps she had gone away for Holiday and the Owls couldn't travel that far?_ It was a thought. He had stood guard of her house until he realized no one was there, stopping his daily routine of popping in during his lunch break. He wrote a few notes, passed them on to Remus who probably burned them or tutted over the lack of organization. He wondered if she was traveling back to school by Floo from some far off land or if she had arrived at the station, wondering where all her friends where, instantly wondering if they were effected by the Newcastle attack while she had been abroad.

What he wasn't expecting was to see her walking down the main set of stairs, carrying the book he had given her at the start of term in one arm with his purse draped around the other.

"Hermione—what—"

Her eyes grew wide when she saw him, and she nearly ran down the stairs to him. She dropped the book and threw her arms around him, making him rock on the spot.

 _How are those feelings now Freddie?_ A little voice he had called George seemed to raddle around in his head. Her hair was tickling his nose, and she was definitely holding on longer than she normally had.

"What are you doing back already?" he asked, pulling apart and looking over her face, trying to find some tell tale sign of a suntan or new freckles from Christmas on the beach. Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary.

But when he looked over her a second time, he didn't find any bruises or cuts, but still tell tale signs of distress. Her eyes were not red from crying, but there was signs bags had recently left under them—probably the work of a quick charm or balm from his shop. Her hair was still frizzy and unruly, as though she had chosen not to do any maintenance to it with the halls empty until this evening. But he had seen her hair get this wild before, and it was when she was running an underground defense club and studying her OWLs.

"Hermione," he asked again, trying to add up the sum of her appearance for the whole of her unspoken distress, "Why are you back?"

She looked into the distance behind him to assure they were alone, "Newcastle."

His legs seemed to turn to stone, keeping him on the spot. _Newcastle._ He hadn't thought she'd be there. He hadn't expected her to be mixed up there. They had never talked about it, that was true, but— _Newcastle._

"Fred, I'm fine, don't look so upset—"

The color that drained his face filled his mouth. "Why didn't you let me know? You could have—"

"Owled you?" she finished, again looking in the distance before she uttered, "Fred, you've been a human owl for three weeks now, you know I wouldn't use the post. Not to tell you something like that."

He could feel her willow like fingers wrap around his hand and the stones around his legs seemed to fall apart. "Come on—follow me," she said, pulling him up her to the top of the stairs before she guided them down a hallway to an empty class room.

He watched as she pulled her wand out and sealed the door with a jet of blue and then turned to him. "Call it paranoia, but I'd rather we not have an eavesdroppers. Go ahead—" she let go of her grasp on him, tucking a stray hair and leaning softly against the desk, "Ask away."

"Where were you when they attacked? Please tell me you were at some stuffy muggle art show or playing bridge at some hotel," he sputtered, scenarios of her and the flames wrapping around his head. "Don't tell me you were—"

"On Market Street?" Hermione finished, her smile flickering as she looked down at the stone ground, "We were all on Market Street—they came after my parents and I—you'd be proud I broke the law and made a portkey that got us out of there."

"Bloody Hell," he swore quietly, his body tensing up. This wasn't the first time she'd been the target, nor was the first brush either of them had experienced with Death Eaters, but he could feel a chill running down his spine as he asked, "You know they were after you?"

She shrugged, and he noticed how her arms seemed to hug her torso as though she was trying to keep herself together, even if just subconsciously. " I wasn't sure until I spoke with Dumbeldore, but it sounds like they disappeared shortly after we got away."

He could feel the blood pounding in his head, beating like a drum that could have marked the Granger's execution. "Did you let anyone from the Order know you were going to Newcastle? They— _I_ —could have stood guard—"

She gave him a tragic smile, "And what good would have come from seeing people I love turn into shields for us? We got away. We're alright."

 _She's anything but alright—_ "And the Order is guarding your parents now right?"

The smile fell apart. "Fred, I—"

He strode towards her, the blood still pounding, the executioner's drum still raddling around his head. "Hermione—where are your parents?"

Hermione Granger's eyes were not what he would normally characterize as pretty. They were brown and when she were cross they seemed to go darker. George used to comment how Mrs Weasley and Hermione could give them angry, demonicly dark eyes when they had gone too far. But they were lighter now. A honey brown rather than a chocolate brown, hidden behind a shield of tears.

"I—" she looked down as though that would hide her mounting distress. "I need you to swear you won't tell a soul. Can you do that?"

The look of resolution dismissed what tears had welled up. "Not even George?" he asked, eye brown raised. Her lips persed, and she shook her head, "Fine, you can tell George too. But that's it."

He took a spot next to her on the desk, leaning against the curve of it with her. "Deal," he answered "Now, where's your mum and dad?"

"I sent them away," she said clear as day, "Modified their memories and sent them abroad, I—I'll collect them after the war."

"You modif—you did magic on your parents?" he tried not to sound taken aback but he couldn't help it. If he had to perform magic on Molly Weasley, he'd have George take his measurements for the undertaker.

She turned to face him, "Don't you judge me Fed Weasley. The Death Eaters were going to start targeting them. I had already planned to do it this summer—necessity required I move my plans forwards six months."

"So you sent them abroad," his voice was dry, "And they don't—"

"Know they have a daughter?" Hermione asked with a grim smile. It was the kind of smile you had when you were hiding something raw and ugly. Something that clawed from the inside. "Its best this way. If I were to die, they wouldn't know about it. They could live out the rest of their lives happy and content. You can't grieve for a face you can't remember."

Her words lacked the confidence they had when she started. He could see the walls of tears swelling in her eyes. It was almost instinctive. He took her in his arm, letting her cry. The warm tears seeping through his breast pocket.

 _Her parents are abroad,_ he seemed to catalog as he stroked her hair. _Her parents are abroad, most like in an English speaking country—somewhere safe for expats. They'll be safe from the war. But Hermione—_

He knew, in part because he and George had started the campaign when Hermione was petrified their fourth year, that she was stronger than she looked. That the fizzy hair was a sort of helmet that protected her as she went to battle against Slytherins and basilisks alike. But she always had Harry and Ron at her side. No matter how far others would push her, she always had her support group around her.

And now, when she needed them the most, two of the leading members didn't know that she exsisted.

The other two, for reasons he could only begin to guess, would not be privy to until she decided the time was necessary.

She pulled away, "I made a mess on your shirt, here," she drew out her wand and aimed it towards his heart " _Tergeo"_ a warmth rushing to her tear stains before they siphoned into her wand again.

"You're not going to tell Harry or Ron are you?" he asked, watching as she smudged any remaining tears away.

"No, and you can't either," she said ferociously. "Harry would be unbearable—he'd blame himself and do something foolish. And Ron," she laughed, "Ron and I—he couldn't keep a secret like this. Harry and your mum would know before I got to breakfast the next morning. Its only you, Dumbledore and I that know the truth."

 _Dumbledore,_ the name jarred him back to the letter that was in his pocket, "I have to make a delivery to the Head Master—that's why I was here to begin with."

"And here I thought it was just to ask how my Christmas Holidays were," she laughed, "How was the Burrow?"

He shrugged, "Quite. Usual Burrow. Death Eaters didn't come set fire to it. We did have to deal with Percy and the Minister crashing Christmas Supper, but he's a prat and the Minister's short."

She gave him a weak smile, "You should go drop off your letter. Besides, the school's going to start getting crowded, people will wonder what your doing here. You can't have your carrier service discovered or they'll come looking for you."

"I live in a florecently painted joke shop Granger, I think they'd be able to find me," he smirked even though she didn't. _Jokeshop, her gift!_ "Hang on, I have something for you, I meant to send it over the Holiday but when I knew you weren't in Essex I didn't know where to send the owl to."

He pulled out the little orange box with purple wrappings. "This doesn't bring your parents back, but I thought it would be a good luck charm," his said as a disclaimer, watching as she slowly opened the box.

Fred didn't know if it was a good thing, her silent reaction. The wide eyes, the sudden intake as she looked at the little gold bracelet with the single time turner. "Do you know what it is?"

"A Time Turner," she said quietly, "I've—read about them."

Her fingers seemed to stroke the golden hourglass, her eyes focusing on something far from them both. "When you came to the shop last summer, the idea stuck with me," he started "Coupled with the fact you woke up thinking it was 1999. I wanted to see if we could come up with a _Time Line_ just for laughs. Apparently the ministry wasn't too fond of the idea, too many accidents could happen, but they didn't destroy the beta so-"

He wasn't too sure of the gift now. He thought perhaps she'd laugh, or kiss his cheek. Now she looked paler than she had when she told him her parents had their memories wiped.

"What are you thinking?" he asked, trying to pull her out of her thoughts.

The words seemed to call her back. She looked down at the bracelet again and smiled, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

* * *

((*))

* * *

The castle was full again.

Hermione was on her side, the curtains of her four poster drawn and a sliver of moonlight creeping through an opening.

Her roommates had been asleep for an hour now. She had been trying for the last three, kicking herself that she hadn't restocked on her sleeping pills when she was in Essex.

The bracelet was still on her wrist. An anchor of the present. What had sent her back here. It was only logical that it could send her forward? That's what she had thought. It would be the way to break the spell and bring her home to the safety and serenity of the post war.

But it would also bring her back to marbled graves.

If she were to leave now, if she where to break down the magic of Fred's Time Turner, surely she would be able to find a way home.

But if she were to leave now, she would be going home to a relationship with Ron, and a dead, unknown friendship with Fred.

Dumbledore's words from when she arrived sat in her head. How she should have to face a harder road than she had before. What did that even mean? She hadn't exactly taken the road less traveled last time. She had camped out with two, short fuses for the better part of six months. She had wiped her parents memories. She had broken into the Ministry of Magic. She had been tortured by Bellatrix LeStrange. What, she wanted to ask the ancient watchman, what could be worse then that? His words were the best advertisement for home, for finding away for the time turner to bring her back.

Her questions seemed to create a lullaby that beckoned her to sleep. To sleep and dream of what _could_ come from the time turner. Maybe it could still save them all. Maybe if she had it in the war, things could be different. Maybe it could buy others time.

But maybe, Hermione thought before sleep claimed her, Maybe it could take her to last June when she first landed, so she could warn herself what was to come: her parents, the war, the retribution that comes with messing with time. And perhaps, if the time turner could take her back that far, it could save her from falling in love with Fred Weasley.

* * *

AN: I know I had previously said they were would be a Leaky Cauldron scene but (as always) I went through a few rewrites for this chapter. I feel like Hermione's recount was growing choppy, but I was happy for an excuse to bring Fred in this chapter. This is just me, but regardless of if Hermione had waited till summer or not to modify memories, I think she would need to tell someone. She told Ron and Harry after all. This time, the reasonings why she couldn't turn to them (Ron and her strained relationship, Harry and his damn Potter Hero complex...) made it so easy for her to share her story with Fred. And it will prove to be a good thing.

Anyway, I digress...

Hermione has the time turner! And emotions for Fred! Next Chapter She's going to balance those feelings out. Between Apparition Lessons and helping Harry understand Horcruxes, Hermione won't have that much time to spare but she finds that in those quite moments, thoughts of Fred aren't far off. Meanwhile, Fred continues working at the shop and ferrying letters and learning exactly what it is Remus is up to.

March First is coming, and with it, Fred hopes an excuse to see Hermione again. . .

Until next time ~KH


	20. Falling Covers

AN: In Loving Memory of those who never disembarked the Titanic on 14-15 April 1912 (the author is a history nerd).

* * *

Falling Covers

* * *

Harry had met with Dumbledore the week they returned from Holiday.

He hadn't told her to, but Hermione was staying up to talk with him once he got back. She had returned to the tower after ten, knowing quite well Lavender would be in bed and she'd be able to nestle into her own corner of the Common Room uninterrupted.

What she didn't know was that there would be someone waiting for _her_ when she got back.

Ron was still sitting down there when she came through the portrait hole. He looked up, his long body peaking up over the couch to see who it was. The flames from the fire place mirrored against his face sending camouflage to his own red cheeks.

"Patrol go late?" he asked, trying to busy himself with whatever assignment he had pulled in front of him. His books said it was Defense Against the Dark Arts but his essay said _Charms Promoting Continuity in Transfiguration of Small Objects._

She lowered her bag down in the chair opposite him, taking off her shoes and jacket before leaning into the warm embrace of the chair. "Was in the library. I don't patrol on Thursdays."

"Right, Thursdays," Ron said uncomfortably, looking down at the essay's blank bits of parchment and then back at her again, a question furrowed in between his eye brows.

She half expected him to ask for her help. What she wasn't expecting was him to sit up right and say, "Mum missed you this Christmas. She kept your sweater at the Burrow in case you popped in for a visit."

"Ginny told me when she gave it, I still need to write her a Thank You note," she answered coolly, opening up a book but looking over its pages to Ron as though she was trying to read him instead.

She had only spent one Christmas with the Weasley Family. It had been the Christmas of her fifth year, when she had snuck away from the last Skiing party and returned to London to be with the Weasleys and Harry at St. Mungos. Sirius had made that Christmas one to remember, helping decorate Grimmauld place with holly and wreaths, singing off key carols and resurrecting decorations that had last been used prior to his incarceration. She had helped Mrs Weasley, George and Ginny in the kitchen making puddings and cakes they'd take to the Mr. Weasley's Christmas Morning.

Ron came in after he was unable to cheer Harry up and they had been charged with the task of icing cookies and cutting out gingerbread. He had rolled up his sleeves and handed her the various hues of icing, keeping the peace till Fred came in jinxing the knives to flick icing at them.

It was one of her favorite Christmases. It was her first, other than the Yule Ball, where she had gotten to see how wizards did the holiday outside of school. She remembered how that seemed to be the last real Christmas they had before the war seemed to sweep them all away. The next year, she would be hiding in the castle, and the year after that nearly being killed by Nagini at Godrics Hollow.

It was the memory of Christmas Puddings and warm, soft knitted jumpers that kept her that year. Although she couldn't seem to think of the jumper without the thought of Ron kicking at her heart. That was the only reason she said his name that day. Because he had been on her mind so much, she said it in a hope that saying his name aloud would expel him from her memories altogether and she could find a way to dial into the Queen's Christmas Message on Ron's old radio.

"She said you should come next year," Ron said, and Hermione knew he was painfully trying to stretch the conversation out. Perhaps give an olive branch. That maybe there was something else he was trying to say, maybe an apology. That, or see how much he could get her to talk before he did something to annoy her. To see if he could resistate any friendship between them in the silent moments by the crackling fire, away from anyone's inquisitive gaze.

But _Next Year_ seemed to echo in her head.

Next year, Ron would be spending Christmas in hiding with Bill and Fleur.

Next year, her and Harry would be leaving white and red Christmas roses at a grave as they raced towards their own.

Next year, she would wake up in a cold cot without a small, well wrapped knitted sweater or a new book from her father.

Next year, no one would know where she was. Next year, no one would know if she was alive or dead.

"You should take your girlfriend home to meet you family at Christmas, not me." She said briskly, looking down at her own book, trying to tuck the future into a corner that would keep it away. _He offers a peace branch and shoot him down with it._ "Besides, what would Lav-Lav say?"

That seemed to shut him up. His pen now ferociously working against the parchment, sending flecks of ink to the air while she stared without seeing the words on her page.

When the war had ended, when she, Harry and Ron had decided to go on the skiing adventure that sent her back here, Mrs Weasley had given her consent with a condition: they all meet at the Burrow a few days before to have a proper, family Christmas. The first one since there was peace. Molly Weasley was owed that at the very least.

So the weekend before, everyone was sleeping in the Burrow. Mr. Weasley had joked that he'd have to start adding on another floor if they kept adding people to the family. Fleur was five months along with the first Weasley Grandchild. Charlie was visiting from Romania with a group of friends who had wanted to see England in the post-war. Percy was home and had brought a girl from the Office, Audrey, in to meet his family. Although Angelina and George were in a transition phase from friendship to something more, she was absent from the gathering, staying to man the shop while George was off. She had joked it was also to make sure George didn't show up there, but stay at home with his family.

That night, she and Ron again were tasked with icing cookies and cutting gingerbread men. When Ron rolled up his sleeves this time, she could still see the pink, vine like marks of the brains on his freckled skin. Her own arm baring a one word souvenir of the war. It was like last time, with Ginny and Harry coming in to join, and more often then not steal one of their finished products from the Father Christmas plate.

George snuck in towards the end, rolling up his own sleeves and started to ice a yellow star when his eyes fell on Hermione's arm, as though he was seeing the word for the first time.

It wasn't, he had seen her tug her sleeves down her arm at funerals, his own finger tracing the word with hesitation, as though if he touched it, the wound would open again.

"We all have our scars, don't we?" he asked, brushing his hair behind where his ear should be "The living not left unscathed."

She wanted to ask him how he was doing. How he and Angelina was doing. She wanted to watch the two of them interact, because when they did the lines around his eyes seemed to dissipate and he looked as though the war hadn't aged him as much as it had. She wanted to see the two of them together, his head turned to the other side because when he laughed and she could see his ear, she could pretend that was Fred and George had just stepped out to get some surprise the two of them had concocted for Christmas. She wanted to pretend that he was still there. That the other half of George Weasley wasn't resting beneath the white tomb and Christmas snow. She wanted to pretend he was here, trying to lure them into a calm and Fred would come around the corner and start flicking icing at them.

She felt someone shaking her shoulder pulling her back from her thoughts. She opened her eyes and saw Harry, looking concerned as he tried stirring her from her slumber.

She was curled into the chair, her face towards the fire and a throw blanket pulled to her arm. Her book had fallen from her lap and she looked across to see where Ron had been sitting was now clear, the only thing left in his wake his inkwell.

"You should go to bed Hermione, it's late," Harry said, his own voice sounding tired, but she had a feeling that may be from a different form of exhaustion.

"What time is it?" she asked, her words coming out slurred as she yawned.

"Twelve thirty. I just got done talking with Dumbledore," he answered, collapsing into the couch and rubbing his eyes, " Remember when our biggest concern was how I was going to breath underwater for the Second task?"

She shifted up, picking up her book and sitting it on her lap, "Rather face some Mermaids than whatever it is Dumbledore told you?"

Harry gave a weak smile, " Something like that." He replied as he tried to sit up. She watched as his eyes looked at the fireplace, "How do you get someone to talk about one of their worst memories? Something you'd rather lie about than admit?"

 _Slughorn_ she thought trying to go through the notebook in her head.

This term, at least, the next two months, would be Harry trying to extract that memory from Slughorn. The one that confirmed to Dumbledore that Voldemort had indeed created Horcruxes. It was information that _she_ could easily give Dumbledore. She had told him, even before she realized how critical that information was, that they spent their seventh year tracing the countryside for them. She didn't understand why he was giving him this mission. Dumbledore knew they were there, why still press Harry to get this detail?

 _Because some things you have to work to know rather than have the information provided to you—_ a voice seemed to whisper to her. Perhaps it was the same reason Dumbledore never told Harry _he_ was a horcrux. He had to work that detail out, have that piece of information given to him at the end of the road rather than the beginning.

 _She_ could easily tell you the struggles of knowing ahead of time what the future held.

"One of my worst memories was third year when you and Ron wouldn't speak to me after the Firebolt," she said clearly, flipping her attention away from the fire, "And just when things were looking better Ron came unglued about Scabbers and Crookshanks. Do you remember that?"

She noticed how he winced at her words. " Were we that bad we were the worst memory?"

Hermione shrugged, and then looked to the fire "Oh don't give me that look, you two are also among the best memories," she chided, "Looking back, there's been worst roads since. It was just rough because I lost the two of you so quick—one of the events was out of my control, the other was just trying to keep you safe—I didn't realize why I was the villain for that." Silence crackled against the fireplace and she turned again to see Harry. "See, not too bad. I gave you my worst memory just like that."

That was another lie. Her arm burned as though it knew the word that would be carved there. She supposed before the war it might have been a truth.

Harry gave her a wry smile, tossing a pillow in her general direction. "Memory's a bit darker than two adolescent idiots," he started, staring at the fire as though it had some hidden answer. "I have to get Slughorn to tell me about when Voldemort asked him about Horcruxes."

"You think Slughorn gave him a private lesson on creating dark magic?" Hermione asked, trying to appear appalled, She had gotten better at acting this second time around. "Harry he was a Hogwarts teacher, surely—"

"He trusts his students to be better. If you're a slug you could get away with anything and say it was in the name of academics and maybe get a slap on the wrist. Slughorn probably thought that he was doing research for Defense Against the Dark Arts, or perhaps that it was a term he came around in a book—" Harry started fluffing the back of his hair, "Who knows, maybe he did find out about it that way and he term just sounded cool. I mean—he has a thing for names—"

 _How did we do this last time—_

"You know, I wasn't able to get a lot of research done at home over Christmas, I'll go to the library straightaway in the morning, see if I can find anything about Horcruxes," that wasn't going to work, she knew that. She lived in the library for weeks after Harry first told her about Horcruxes and she had only been able to find them meagerly mentioned in an introduction. Hermione wondered what would happen if she told him to simply take a swig of Felix and ask Slughorn then—

 _No, that needs to be Harry's idea._ She warned herself, _You tell him and he'll drown the bottle. Remember how lucky you were last time when the Death Eaters came? If you make one wrong move, Billy Weasley could become a full blown werewolf or even worse—_

"Thanks Hermione," Harry smiled, "But don't you dare spend the whole day in the library—we have apparition lessons this weekend."

She rolled her eyes, "If Magdungus Fletcher can apparate, we should have nothing to worry about." That was the truth. She was a pretty fair apparater. After all, she had apparated them out of the wedding when the Death Eaters arrived. She had also taken them when they were at the Ministry, and again when they fled into the forest. Only that one time had one of them been Splinched, but even then she had been prepared. Lessons this time would be easy. She'd just have to play the role of an overachieving Hermione Granger, and she had created that role with ease.

Harry must have said something when she was lost in her thoughts because he kept looking at her, as though he was waiting for a response.

"Sorry?" she poised, hoping he would repeat himself but he just shook his head, looking at her again. "Is everything alright Hermione? You—you have moments when your here and then you seem to—you've just been different lately."

She motioned her head towards the stairs, "Those two still," she said simply. She didn't bring up that she still liked to poke at Ron every now and again when they were alone together that he had chosen Lavender. She didn't bring up how when he was trying to be civil to her earlier she had used Lavender as a means to shut him up.

 _You didn't have a blanket on you when you passed out,_ a voice seemed to churn in her head, _how did that get there?_

"You can't look—"

"Its hard to look past it when its in front of you everyday," Hermione said stiffly. "Perhaps some day—"

March 1st to be exact. She starts to look past it on Ron's Birthday because _Ron_ was able to look past Lavender to _Her_. But that was then—now, _what are you going to do now, now that things with Fred—_

Those feelings of affection that had stirred in her the day she told him about her parents. Those feelings that had lingered with her the last few months towards him—they were almost sweeter feelings that those she had held towards Ron when she fell through time.

She didn't know what she was going to do when Ron had his accident. When he said her name in the Hospital Wing. Last time, it had been enough to break the spell. This time— she didn't know what would happen when he said her name surrounded by Hermione and his brothers, surrounded by Hermione and _Fred._

Harry didn't say anything for a moment. "If you ever tell him I told you this, I will deny it to the last," he said mischievously, his face finally young and not battle warn. "Try calling him _Sweetheart_ and see what he does…."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Hermione's free periods became dedicated library time, more so than previously, after her conversation from Harry.

She knew she wasn't going to find any book on Horcruxes. She pulled a few, and made sure to do it more sporadically, mixing it in with a few charms books or History of Defense, just to throw Madam Price off her trail. That was the last thing anyone one needed. She could only envision the conversation between the librarian, Headmaster and Professor McGonagall on why Hermione Granger was pulling the Dark Arts off the shelves.

So while she did her homework and half heartedly flipped through these books, she would take breaks and start planning in Fred's book. She had already started making a budget for the months they were on the run. She had taken all of her savings when she had closed her account at the bank. There was enough for them to live in limited comfort. She hadn't known how long the war would go on last time. With an end date in sight, she could stretch her pounds a little further and make it work out to their benefit.

But there was another thought that pulled at her mind—

If she made the budget tighter, she could squeeze some galleons out to go to muggleborns in hiding, or those that made it back to the school only to go into hiding in Hogwarts itself.

She could make their budget even more limited; maybe if she kept it as strict as it had been before, Ron would get irritated and mixed in with the horcrux, he'd still leave them. Then they'd go through the absence with a budget for two. _And maybe she could help someone out that way—_

She didn't know who she'd give the money to, Neville perhaps? But how could she give him an envelop and tell him to take it and use it as he saw fit. Neville wouldn't , not without asking questions about what she was going to do. Ginny would be the same—

Part of her wondered what Fred would do if she asked him to take money and see that Neville or Ginny got it. She could give it to him the night before they disappeared. He would be hesitant, but she didn't have a doubt in her mind that he'd follow her wishes.

 _It could be enough to get them out of the country. Get them somewhere safe._ Maybe she could get the Creevy brothers to Illvermorny. The Galleon was stronger than the American Currency. If they transferred their own accounts, they'd be able to study abroad for a year. Or they could even stay closer at Beauxbatons and just use Hermione's scholarship as get way cash.

At the very least, that'd be one less grave she'd have to place flowers on.

She had also started listing assets, that list wasn't long at all. It was, in short, just her house. Her parent's house. It was bewitched to be unseen, muggleproof, just like Number 12. She could put the Filledus charm on it and they could stay there after they get kicked out of Grimmuald place.

Or, she could offer it up to muggleborns to hide in. Or offer it to the Order.

Or she could offer it to Fred and George.

It was insane how much trust she had towards the two. She was prepared to had them her family home and a good portion of her savings so they could use it in a war to safe lives she wasn't even sure _could_ be saved. But she was going to be on the run with Harry looking for Horcruxes they would never find. She had to make sure that course would stay true.

It wasn't to her surprise when she got out of the library after a course of Budgeting the Future that Harry asked her what was wrong. But he knew better than to expect the truth from her.

"She must have heard about it too Harry," Ron grumbled, seeing how far he could dig his fists into his pockets. "It's not bloody fair—I was to come of age on a Hogsmede weekend. We could have gotten Fire Whiskey."

"They canceled Hogsmeade didn't they?" Hermione asked, her thoughts rushing back to the present as they made their way to the Great Hall for Appparation Training.

Ron snorted an answer. "Well you can hardly blame the Governors, Katie Bell is still in St. Mungos and we never caught who jinxed her," she retorted, "Besides, you don't want your Birthday and Deathday to match."

"So long as I get a Bloody Fire Whisk—"

To her chagrin, the Ministry Official had started talking, instructing them on the three D's and describing the horrors of being splinched. She cast a glance around the room and could see Susan Bones, eyeing her hoop with hesitation. Dean and Seamus were talking on the side and Lavender had worked her way towards Ron.

"Now remember, _Destination, Determination Deliberation—_ " the instructor repeated, tapping his hand against his leg as he spoke each _D._ "If you don't do either enough, you'll be more a harm to yourself than you will be a help.

He told them to focus on the hoops in front of them. Hermione closed her eyes and when she opened she was already in the circle, Ernie MacMillian whistling while Professor Flitwick applauded, awarding her five points to Gryffindor.

"Leave it to Hermione Granger to be the best in class," Ernie winked from across his circle. She could feel eyes on her and turned to Professor McGonagall, looking at her and slightly shaking her head, looking to a Ministry official scribbling notes on a paper.

"You've never apparated before have you Hermione?" Harry asked, still looking at the circle infront of him. "It just comes natural?"

"You can do it Harry," Hermione offered but her eyes were in the distance as well, now locked on the Ministry Official McGonagall had nodded towards. It wasn't anyone she recognized, but she knew what McGonagall was trying to tell her—the Ministry was taking notes of their skills, and this time—and quite possibly until she, Harry and Ron disappeared—they were better off to be inconspicuous than they were to be otherwise.

* * *

((*))

* * *

The shop had been closed for over an hour when they heard the knock at the back door.

George got up first, flipping a switch he had developed on his desk that masked the mess and made everything look respectable, just in the event it was ever mum that came to visit. Fred had one too he just chose more often than not to keep the mess prevalent. No one could find what they were looking for anyway.

Christmas had been good to the shop, their Guardians having been a best seller and had sold out following another Dementor Attack in Aberdeen they had sold out and were on a rush to produce more each week. The Ministry was also looking into them, seeing if they could produce in bulk so as to start sending them out to the population at large.

Fred and George found it funny that their best customer by far was the Ministry of Magic, but perhaps it was because their father was leading the witch hunt against talismans and tall tale solutions and the Ministry though Arthur would be just as severe on his own sons. Little did the Ministry know some of their defense line was their father's ideas more so than their own.

"Fred, you have an owl," George said, Remus Lupin coming in behind him.

Fred got up from his seat, "I thought you said you wouldn't come to the shop." He looked at Remus and saw how tired the man looked. He scooted his chair towards the guest, offering him a moments respite. He had a few new scars on his hands and Fred could only begin to guess where he found them. He looked through the drapes and saw the moon was waning now. This wounds were all too fresh.

"I waited until I saw you close, and even then I waited for the block to clear," he took out his wand and waved it in the direction of the door, three dead bolts locking simultaneously. That would trigger their defense charms, but Remus knew that.

"There was another attack—" he started, pulling at the sleeve of his arm. "I couldn't wait for word to pass _our_ way, it could take to long for you to get the signal."

George lifted one of the first aid kits that they kept in their work shop and started cleaning off some of the dry blood on his arm, as Fred snapped open a container of Essence of Dittany and put it on a cotton ball.

"Remus, where are you _finding_ this information?" he asked.

Lupin winced as the twins doctored his arm. "I'm undercover, for Dumbledore," he grimaced, "There is a Werewolf colon in the Welsh Mountains. It's independent of Greyback's pack, but there are some that are starting to want to join up with him."

"And Dumbeldore wants you to persuade them to stay independent?" George asked.

"Ideally, Dumbledore wants them to come to our side, but Greyback's feeding on their distrust towards wizards. You take a community that's been ostracized and offer them a piece and role in a new world order it'll only be so long before they want to join up," Lupin answered, flicking his own wand and having wrappings zoom to his arm.

"My mission had been working but Greyback himself showed up in camp right before the full moon. He told them his offer, and many of them have agreed to start coordinating their attacks on Welsh Muggles under Greyback's direction. I took down the names of the communities—" he used his good arm to dig out a scribbled list of towns and villages, taking it's crinkled edges and pushing it towards Fred, "Take this. This needs to go to Dumbledore _now."_

George took the list before Fred could reach it, his brows furrowing together as he looked at each name, "This needs to get to everyone, we need to let these communities know!"

"We can hardly write a news letter and put it in the _Prophet,"_ Remus rebuttled, " It would cause a panic, our best hope lies in Dumbledore and the Order—"

 _Our best hope,_ Fred thought and the room seemed to be warmer than it had earlier. Our best hope was in Harry defeating Voldemort in one of his annual, end of term battles to the death.

"What did the Order do last time this happened?" he asked, looking at Lupin.

"Everything happened so quick last time. The war was on its fifth year by the time we finished at Hogwarts. The werewolves were already aligned with Voldemort. They were slower to over this go around—"

"But surely, James, Sirius and you didn't play good little soldiers all the time," Fred interrupted, tapping his hand against the desk.

"Did you ever leak warnings out? In case the Order couldn't get to people in time?" George wagered.

Lupin seemed to look off in the distance with a sly smile, "Sirius and I used to drop pamphlets in pubs. Our kinds pubs. Heightened patrols, suggested vacations-"

Fred took the list of names and scribbled one of his own, tucking his to a corner of the desk and the original to his pocket.

"I'll get this to Dumbledore straight away, but I think we could make a few stops after the fact," he started. "After all, the Kids are supposed to go to Hogsmeade next week," Fred offered surveying the calendar on the wall, a circle drawn in red towards the end of the week. "It's Ron's birthday, maybe we can do a drop of our own."

* * *

AN: Kind of an erupt ending of a Chapter, but this chapter is heaped in foreshadow...not only for next chapter but for down the road.

I won't lie though, next chapter is one I've been wanting to write since I came up with this story.

So, Spoilers :

Hermione wakes up to 1 March to memories of her previous life. She's still unsure what she's going to do when Ginny finds her and tells her what has happened. Everything seems to be at a still and only gets harder when Fred and George arrive. As they sit around his bed waiting for any news a name is muttered and everything as they know it seems to fall apart...


	21. Falling Dreams

AN: The last little bit has text included in CH 19 of HBP. Those aren't my words. Don't hurt me.

* * *

Falling Dreams

* * *

Hermione laid awake in her four poster bed in early hours of 1 March 1997.

She had been lying awake for a few hours now.

She had given up on sleep. She knew what she _needed_ to do, but didn't know exactly how to do it.

It wasn't quite sun up. She could hear every crack in the tower, every breath of wind from the grounds below. It was like a steady lullaby, trying to lure her back to rest that she knew would never come. Lavender and Paravati's distant snores weren't keeping her up, they were as familiar as the wind.

It was the date. The calendar was doing this to her.

Last time, she had slept without a problem, rolling out of bed as her wrist watch vibrated against her arm. It was a Saturday, but she had a timetable to keep. They had cancelled the Hogsmeade weekend and she had already made plans to study the entire day; the morning dedicated to the Horcrux search while the afternoon was to be set aside for classes. No one would be in the library in the early morning hours and she wondered if she could dive into a catacomb of books without the bird eye glare of the Librarian coming to ask her if she had any questions.

She had crept down to the Great Hall and started picking at the elves' rushed breakfast offerings when she had opened her planner, identical to the one she had bought the boys for Christmas the year before. That's when she saw it. In her cramped, slanted hand writing, written in purple ink the words and scribbled out school girl heart _Ron's Seventeenth._

It was Ron's birthday. If he hadn't been acting like a glorified ass for six months, she might have a moment of panic and converted the early hours of studying to making an effort to surprise him with something—and then she had remember there was a nicely wrapped package at the bottom of her trunk, his Cannon's Keeper Jersey she had bought over the summer holidays. She hadn't completely forgotten him, and that was perhaps the worst part.

 _But he had acted like a glorify ass—_ and she had no intention to give it to him. Not today. There'd be no special effort to make his day. There'd be no olive branch. There'd be no truce. There'd be no handing off of a gift and making up with a hug where all her hate towards him seemed to melt away.

Instead, she wondered if she could exchange it at the Quidditch shop, maybe put it towards Harry's Birthday.

Hermione had gotten pretty good at ignoring Ron the last time. She had spoken to him more this second time around, the occasional banter, the verbal jabs—but that hadn't been the case before. The _first_ time this had happened she hadn't spoken to him any more than necessity called for. She had learned to skip meals, adjust paths to class. She sacrificed time when she could be with Harry because seeking Harry out would have meant seeking out Ron as well. He had made his choices with Lavender Brown and however bitter she was about it, she had made her own. Ones with out him.

After breakfast she nicked a fruit from the table and disappeared up the stairs to the library, finding her cubicle in the library and dropping off her contents before she dug through the stacks in hopes for some clue, any clue that would explain what exactly they were up against.

When Ginny had found her in the morning she was pulling eighteenth centuries anthologies of Dark Curses and their Development. Hermione noticed almost immediately that something was wrong. Her first thought was Harry, that something had happened to Harry and that's why Ginny was running down the aisles of bookshelves towards her. As soon as she had said " _Ron's been poisoned"_ Hermione remembered the book she was pulling from the shelf dropped to the floor, a clanking sound and the moan of the book causing Madam Price to glare and rise from her desk to seek restitution.

Hermione's face had fallen. Everything was falling. Her limbs were weightless as Ginny guided her out of the library and the two girls raced up the stairs. By the time they got to the Hospital, Madam Pomfrey and Slughorn had drawn the drapes around Ron's bed and they were left to join Harry on the chairs outside of the Infirmary.

She had bereted Harry with questions, wanting to know what happened. Down to the last detail, Hermione wanted the scene so she could imagine it. As he told her, his eyes darting from the door to her face every so often, all Hermione could think was the last time the two of them had talked, he had said _I love you_ and she said something along the lines of not letting Lavender hear that. It was stupid, she had helped him fix a paper and he when had expressed gratitude she threw it back at him and continued her silent protest.

 _One of your best friends could have died—hell, he could still be dying—and you haven't said a nice word to him since October,_ seemed to be the thoughts echoing in her head as she sat at the Hospital Wings Door. If Harry hadn't saved Ron, if he had gotten rid of the Prince's book and not read the note about the Beezor, if Ron had died, she would have to have lived with that.

That he had died without her saying a nice word to him in months.

It was in that instant she wished she could take it all back. That she could take the first few hours of the day back. That rather than sit and scowl at the date, she wished she could go back in time and rush to the boys dormitory and give Ron her gift. She wished she could throw her arms around his neck, and let that be his shock, not the poison. She wished she could do it all over again, and maybe then, _that_ would be enough to snap him out of his ass.

She never knew what it was that turned Ron against her and towards Lavender. It had been the thing that had kept her up at nights the first time around. The previous summer things had begun to be different. She could tell he was interested in her. He was more polite. Their banter wasn't even true banter but them playing off each others words, bringing out the best in one another. Normalcy was giving way to prolonged glances and brushed touches.

And then one morning after a Quidditch Practice, he couldn't more look at her any more than he could ask her to pass the marmalade.

She had figured then that perhaps he hadn't gotten a lot of sleep. That he was grumpy. The Weasleys were all irritable when they hadn't slept, Ron was perhaps just the highest offender.

But it never went away. He wouldn't make eye contact. He had made a few jabs at Victor that day—that was unusual, it had been well over a year since that saga. Qudditch season had a tendency to bring out Ron's worst qualities, she thought that perhaps practice and the first game of the season had something to do with his sudden transformation into the dark, unpleasant brute he seemed to be promoting.

But that brute continued on. And the first game had its fateful aftermath from the party seemed to completely replace her best friend with the brute. Ron was gone. That's what she had told herself when the nightmare continued on. Ron was gone and she wouldn't let herself believe that he would ever come back again, no matter how much she had wished it.

She used to dream of it. Dream that she hadn't given him a hard time before the first game. Dreamt that she had been the supportive fan he had always wanted her to be. She even had the occasional dream where it was her he was snogging after the game. That when her heart was racing it was because she could still taste the pitch on his lips and smell the cinnamon and pine that was fixed in his clothes. She could feel his heart in the dream too. And it wasn't racing because she had sent birds at him—it was racing because she was kissing him back. Whatever doubts he may have had, whatever self confidence he lacked, it had been made right because Hermione Granger was kissing him.

But then, she would always up. And the only reason either of their hearts would race towards each other is if their tempers were raging as well.

That had never changed.

Even when the war ended and the peace came, their tempers would still rise towards each other. They had argued about Lavender's Funeral. They had argued when she told him she was going back to Hogwarts. They had argued about her friendships with Victor and Justin Fletch-Fletchy. It was something they told each other they were working on. But even then it seemed to be something _she_ was putting an effort towards, not Ron.

She could remember all these emotions. The regret. The desire. The worry. The anger. Was it love then? Could she honestly have said she knew she was in love with Ron Weasley then? Could she honestly say that him saying her name while highly medicated was enough to cause her to forgive him for a semester of wrongs?

Could she honestly let herself get up out of bed, knock on the boy's door and give him his birthday present and hug like she had wished she had before? Could she derail what was meant to happen? What would the consequence be? Someone else get poisoned because Harry would be there to shove a beezor down their throat?

Hagrid's roosters were crowing, their cries of the sunrise sneaking to the castle. Paravati rolled over, crawling deeper into her blankets to mask their cry. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to follow her example.

Maybe she could have one last dream. Where she could make another choice. Where she ran to the arms of another red head. Where it wasn't cinnamon and pine but mahogany masking the smell of explosions that seemed to pull her in. Where the teased, but rarely argued. Where different, but familiar arms holding her still racing heart, a heart that was racing towards him.

* * *

((*))

* * *

She had slept in.

She rushed out of the dormitory as quick as she could, determined to keep today right. What thoughts she had earlier in the morning had just been thoughts. For better or for worst, she owed Ron that, didn't she? She had already jeopardized her parents timelines she couldn't jeopardize his as well.

The castle was quite and calm, just as she had remembered it. If they hadn't cancelled the Hogsmeade weekend, it was likely the halls would have a buzz about them, more students coming into the Great Hall for a light brunch before making their way down to the village. But as it was there was only a small cluster of O. students at the Ravenclaw table. Eating while arguing over Runes translations.

Hermione poured a cup of tea and held it against her lips, letting the steam tickle her nose and clear her mind.

 _What are you going to do when he says your name?_ She couldn't remember what she said last time. Had she said anything? Was she supposed to hold his hand? She couldn't remember. _He's unconscious, it really doesn't matter how you react—_

"Thank God," a voice caused her to open her eyes. Ginny was standing at the foot of the table, her eyes wide and panicked. It was the look Molly had, when she sensed one of her children were in danger. Hermione was only noticing this second time around just how much Ginny mirrored her mother.

She was dressed in what Hermione assumed were the clothes she wore yesterday, muggle jeans and a t-shirt that had been put on with such haste it was inside out. She had bed hair that would have rivaled Hermione's if it wasn't for the fact she had pushed it back into a pony tale that swayed as she came towards her.

 _How did Ginny find out?_ She had always wondered, _Dean must have said that something was wrong and the Harry and Ron had gone to Slughorn but how—_

"I was halfway to the Library when the Fat Friar said you had gone to breakfast—" her friend panted, rushing towards her side, seizing her arm. "Hermione, I need you to come with me."

Hermione seemed to freeze up, preparing to take on her role. "Ginny—what's going on, you're acting—"

 _You can do this. Just think of the war. Think of the worst memories. Think of when you had lost—_

"It's Ron, He's been poisoned," Ginny's words cemented the events. _He was just poisoned. He wasn't dead. Harry was able to save him, just like last time. You haven't killed Ron._

But once the relief flooded over her that she hadn't sabotaged Ron, a chill lingered over her. Her insides seemed to come to a stand still. She was in the Forest of Dean. Ron's warm, flowing blood covered her hands as it gushed out of his splinted arm. He was so white against the red of her hands, her shaking hands-Harry needed to help her with the Dittany-She couldn't do anything to prevent this. She had done everything to plan and Ron was still in dangers door.

She didn't know what was going on. All she knew that everything began to fall around her.

* * *

((*))

* * *

It had become quite clear that the Hogsmeade Weekend had been cancelled.

Fred and George were the only ones even remotely close to the age of students in the Three Broomsticks. They had dropped a few carefully put together pamphlets at the Hogs Head but once old Alberforth seemed to pick up what they were doing he told them to leave or he'd see to it that the goats got to them.

Now, the two brothers were spread lankly against the bar at the Three Broomsticks. Their wooden sales cases slouched against the base as the two's backs were turned against the door at long last. They had been in the pub since five and as Fred looked down at his watch he could see the rotating stars signal it was nearly ten.

 _So much for surprising Hermione,_ he thought bitterly to himself. He hadn't written her to tell of his coming. He had wanted it to be a surprise, like it was before. That she would get off the carriage and see his flaming red hair and know that he had come. She was smart enough, she could assume he had come back for her. And he wouldn't argue that. He had. Well, for her and also to warn of terroristic werewolves bent on the dismantlement of their government.

He and George had poked around Zonko's, still boarded up. Ziblimi Zonko's weather worn notice of closure now tattered and blowing in the window. There was a new notice, stating the premesis was for sale. That had grabbed Fred's attention, but George simply shook his head and drew his brother towards the Three Broomsticks

"There aren't kids on the street. School's about to go in a lock down for tests and their aren't any student's filling their stocks with jokes. Look around Freddie," George had said again as they slouched into the Three Broomsticks, "No use buying a building students aren't going to be able to run off to."

Neither of them wanting to believe that it was true, that the students weren't coming. Aside from the people from the village, the tavern was empty. Rosemerta came around the corner two mugs of Butterbeer, froth spilling over their rims.

"It's getting late, you lot want food yet?" She asked setting the two drinks down in front of them, "I remember the funny one fancies the chips and the good looking one prefers the shepherd's pie."

"Told you I was the looker George," Fred nudge, watching his brother scowl as he dug through his pockets for some sickles.

"We might as well head back," George shrugged. "Lee's closed the shop for us and gets irritable if he's not fed."

Rosemerta nodded and then looked at the door, "School's going to put me out, I'd already made the orders for extra Butterbeer Barrels when they cancelled the weekend."

"Why did they cancel it?" Fred asked. He couldn't help but notice how uncomfortable Rosemerta's face seemed to fall.

"After that Gryffindor girl got attacked last go around," she started, as though she was ashamed she brought it up, lose of sales compared to the near loss of a student. "They haven't found out who did it yet, so they figure students may not be safe." Rosemerta turned away, putting more glasses in the sink, "Kids can't catch a break. Dementors one year, Ministry Hag another—"

The door opened and a fresh gust of wind came with it. Hagrid was standing at the enterance. He tipped his shaggy head to Rosemerta and then locked his eyes on the two brothers.

"Fred, George, what'er you to do'ng 'ere?" he asked. Hagrid's look mirrored that of the village. Of feigned rest. When he smiled it no longer reached up to his eyes. "You stop fer a pint before you check in on your brother?"

Fred looked at George and noticed how his chin locked in place. "What are you talking about Hagrid—"

"Ron, he's been poisoned he has—this morning," The three heard a crash and turned around to see Rosemerta had dropped the empty glasses in her hands, shards falling to the ground.

 _Ron had been poisoned._

It was as though someone had taken his warm Butterbeer and replaced it with a ice cold water that now clenched his insides.

Fred would be the first to admit they gave Ron more hell than he deserved. That he was one of the favorite targets of their jokes. But he was still Ron. It wasn't as if he was Percy. He was Ron. The one who learned their tricks before the others. The one they had practiced punch lines. Who would be the first they charged with idocracy, but he was _their_ idiot brother.

 _And he was poisoned._

"You alright there Rosie?" Hagrid asked, calling Fred out of his thoughts. She waved him off, her wand sending the shards back together before she asked, "Poisoned, how do you get a poisoning at the school?"

"Not sure yet," Hagrid started, "Just hear'd it from your parents, I ran into them as I came out of the forest. Apparently Horace had a bottle that was temp'red with, shared a glass with Harry and Ron for Ron's birthday an—"

"Is Harry ok?" George asked, "Slughorn didn't have two poisoned kids?"

"Oh Harry's fine. Imagine he's camped out at the Hospital Wing with Hermione and Ginny now," the Giant sighed, looking now at Rosemerta "You have a bottle of Ogden's? Need it for medical—"

"Don't go tampering with Poppy Pomfrey's patients," Rosemerta answered, "I'm not having that woman come after me if you've tried to mess..."

"S'not for Ron, for an animal—" Hagrid started, taking the conversation off the poisoning of the youngest Weasley son and instead discussing a spider.

George hit Fred's shoulder, nudging it to the door, "They wouldn't call Mum and Dad if it wasn't bad, you remember last time they got called in."

"You think Ron was the target?" Fred asked in a hollow whisper. "Harry I can see but Ron—"

"Maybe Hermione had enough of him and that cow?" George said with a mischievous smirk, "Best think twice before spurning that woman Freddie."

Fred rolled his eyes, "Come on, she'd come up with some cleaner way to off him if she really wanted too." Although seriously doubting if Hermione had enough in her to off Ron, even if she _really_ wanted to.

"Come on," George got off his stool and headed towards the door, "Let's go see our brother."

* * *

((*))

* * *

George was annoyed when they didn't head over to the Stationhouse to take the Floo straight to Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore had once told him not to abuse the fireplace connection. How if he came when he wasn't welcome, it was possible he'd get splinched or disappear into a vanishing cabinet. So rather than gamble the risk, they summoned one of the carriages that took them on a very bumpy ride back to the castle.

"The rain's picking up," George sighed, looking through the curtains, "Would it kill Ron not to get hospitalized?"

"'Suppose they wouldn't hospitalizing him if he was dead, so—" Fred answered.

George tossed one of their last pamphlets at his brother's head, "Wise arse."

Fred watched as his brother looked up the castle. "You know, in full honesty, we aren't supposed to come back to the school until Ron graduates next term. If we were a normal family-"

"If we were a normal family we wouldn't have been able to open a joke shop. Or dungbomb Umbridge as we escape into the night," Fred countered, still looking at his brother. George looked fine but there was something about his voice that sounded worn. He was reminded of the summer when they fled the shop the night Florean was taken. His Brother was a survivor, he was a fighter. And part of that thought made him wonder how the next encounter with danger would leave them.

They met Flitwick in the Great Hall who seeing the red, rain matted hair sent the two up to the hospital without need of an explanation. _He knew, he had to know_ that there was a Weasley lying in hospital.

When they got the corridor outside of the hospital, the three chairs that must have been occupied for most of the day were now knocked vacant. George nodded towards the open door and in the lamp lit room Fred could make out his brother, red hair standing out like a dull flame against the pale, crisp sheets. Ginny and Harry were flanked him on either side while Hermione sat nearest Ron, opposite of Ginny.

The moment Fred saw Hermione, he could feel how wrong today had been. She met his eyes and hers were soft and vulnerable. He wondered on the carriage ride over if he should give into that urge to take her in his arms. What would she do if he did that? The hell with his brother in a hospital bed, Harry and Ginny gawking. The hell with his twin who would most certainly say something— about having to wait till they were getting together over Ron's _dead_ body, but the hell with George. Fred wanted to know what would _she_ do?

But looking at her now, he knew he couldn't. All he could do was walk to Ron's bed and take the spot next to Harry, across from Hermione. With Ron, as always, separating the two of them.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Fred hadn't said anything to her.

He was talking to Ginny now, asking if their parents had seen him yet, saying they had run into Hagrid in the Three Broomsticks after Hagrid had bumped into the Weasley parents as he emerged from the Forest.

"They've already seen him, they arrived an hour ago—they're in Dumbledore's office now, but they'll be back soon…" Ginny trailed off tapering her words as Ron mumbled, "He's been doing that since we've come in."

"So the poison was in the drink?" said Fred quietly, his eyes flickering between Ron's face, and then his sister. He wouldn't look at her. She wished he would. She needed that steady gaze. The one from her nightmare so long ago on the chess set. Telling her keep her eyes on him and everything would be alright.

"Yes," said Harry at once, he'd told this story so many time he could focus on the tinest detail it had become so refined in retelling. "Slughorn poured it out—"

Fred interrupted again, "Would he have been able to slip something into Ron's glass without you seeing?"

"Probably," said Harry, " but why would Slughorn want to posion Ron?"

"No idea," Fred frowned, looking at George, and then Harry again, "You don't think he could have mixed up the glasses by mistake? Meaning to get you?"

Ginny's gaze turned from Ron to her alert brother, "Why would Slughorn want to poison Harry?" she asked, "He's one of Slughorn's favourites—'

"I dunno," said Fred, "but there must be loads of people who'd like to line up for a chance to posion Harry, mustn't there? The "Chosen One" and all that?"

Ginny scoffed, "So Slughorn's a Death Eater now?"

Hermione watched as Fred's face twist, like he had just smelt something unpleasant. The way the lamp cast light on his face the expression seemed more defined, his voice darkly saying "Anything's possible."

"He could be under the Imperious Curse Gin, he might not be acting as himself," George said sympathetically. "He's—"

"He's innocent till he's proven guilty," Ginny said finally, " And frankly I think its ridiculous. The poison could have been in the bottle, in which case it was probably meant for Slughorn himself and not Ron—"

Hermione closed her eyes, she was trying to close everything out. She was trying to remember what came next. It was as though she was waiting, ill prepared for her turn to say a line in a play. Trying to recall what she said anything that triggered him to say her name. Could she say that—did she want to say anything—

"But you said Slughorn had been planning to give that bottle to Dumbledore for Christmas," Ginny reminded Harry, pulling at one of their hour long conversations from their vigil early in the day. " So the poisoner could just as easily have been after Dumbledore."

"They didn't know Slughorn well enough then," Hermione said finally. Her voice sounded tight, and dry from lack of speaking. "Anyone who knows Slughorn would have known there was a good chance he'd keep something tasty for himself. Not share it as a gift."

Ron's head stirred ever so slightly. And she wasn't prepared, not even in the slightest, for his voice to croak out _, "Lav—derr"_

They all fell silent, and as Ron continued to mutter undistinguishable words, Fred finally looked at her. In the moment when she couldn't mask herself, when she couldn't be composed or keep an emotion in check. He looked at her. They were all looking at her. Why was it when she wanted to smother the unconscious Ron with his pillow, why was it then they all looked to her?

 _Lav—derr_

The doors flew open and Hermione found her savior in Hagrid, making giant strides to the bed. Before he could saything, before any of them could, Hermione got up.

"Here Hagrid, take my spot—I need—" she gestured, pointing to the small little chair too close to be undisturbed by Hagrid.

 _I need to run. I need to get out of here—I need to sort out how this happened—I need to know what this means—what all of this means_

Her voice was still tight. Her smile still anything but genuine. Her smile couldn't reach her cheeks, let alone her eyes.

"—Prefect duty—I need to make sure someone's covering."

She didn't know if Fred watched her as she walked out of the Hospital Wing into the corridor. She didn't know if any of them did, but she could feel their eyes on her as she walked away. She tried her best to walk as normal as possible down the corridor, just in case they were listening, or heaven forbid one of them were following her.

The moment she turned out of the adjourning corridor, Hermione ran.

She never stopped running.

* * *

AN: Look! I updated in a week!

It came together as best as I had originally hoped. I feel like there's going to be a few people asking "Wait, does Hermione love Ron now?" And to address that, no...I hope that this chapter captured just how torn Hermione is. Her pervious self, the first go around, i think she still had hope for her and Ron. Now, she knows what the next few months will hold and she's not sure. She doesn't want to see her friend die, but she doesn't want to see herself trapped in a relationship with him either. And especially in the wake of the last few chapters where she wiped her parents memories, Hermione's once bitten and twice shy with those she love and time streams.

Hope that makes sense...

So, Chapter 21, we're over 100K words, 325 followers and 147 favorites. We're knocking on 200 reviews. You are all beautiful people and I appreciate your friendship and love. Chapter 22 will bring our favorite two together and some questions are finally going to be addressed.

Until next time~KH


	22. Falling Close

AN: Typically I'm 4-5k words per chapter. But this had been sitting on the desk top for a while. Good news: I'm on Day Shift! Bad news? That means my insomnia fueled writing sessions have suffered as late. So here you go dear hearts. Be kind.

* * *

Falling Close

* * *

If ever there was an opportune time to strangle his brother, Fred was pretty sure that this was it.

In fact, it wouldn't be the end of the world. Ron would have a better survival rate here than outside of the infirmary. Fred could say his brother started to struggle to breath and he tried to do muggle rescue compressions or whatever it was he had not paid attention to in Muggle Studies. He just _forgot_ that it was supposed to be above his heart and started punching his neck instead. His father had told him of worse mishaps from the Ministry. Besides, punches to the neck made more sense that sewing a wound close. Innocent Mistake, no court would know the better.

 _Innocent Mistake—_ much more innocent than muttering Lavender's name while in an unconscious state in front of Hermione.

Hagrid had joined his siblings and Harry in theorizing who exactly had poisoned Ron.

Fred wouldn't lie, it had been something that had been pressing on his mind for the better part of an hour. He could easily have stuck around for a little while longer and joined them in their conspiracy, but concern for his brother had disappeared. No amount of worry was going to bring Ron out of his present state. Fred's concern had been replaced with alarm for someone else, someone who had just flown out the door.

He had looked at her after Ron said it.

He had been trying to seem distant, focused on his brother more than Hermione when they had first arrived. George knew how he felt about her, but there wasn't any reason to put on a neon sign with little hearts pointing at Hermione for Ginny and Harry's sake. There was a sense of propriety with Ron's poisoning… The git would have thrown a fit if his poisoning was overshadowed by the two of them coming together.

Fred caught George's eye as Hagrid shared his theory. His twin looked at the door Hermione had exited from and seemed to be ever so slightly shaking his head, as though he was trying to advise against Fred's logic. _Don't do it Freddie—make it easy for her—Let her fall apart and put herself back together again…It's what Hermione does. Tare down, fall apart, regroup in the library._

But she had done too much already.

After all, she had wiped her parents memories.

He had slowly realized in the crowded Hospital Wing just how alone Hermione was. No one would be waiting for her at Kings Cross. No one would be worrying about her if she was recovering from a poisoned drink. And with Ron's word, it told her she was alone amongst her friends too, alone in her heart.

 _That's not true Freddie,_ he thought to himself, _She's got you—_

But that look in her eye, the speed in her step—it didn't matter what he felt, he knew in that look she never felt more alone.

"I'm going to see if I can knick a plate from the kitchens," Fred said, tucking his hands in his pockets, avoiding George's accusatory glare. "Shall I pick anything up for you lot?"

"Give me a moment and I'll go help—"

"No need, you need to stick around incase mum comes back and starts fretting," Fred brushed off.

He didn't stick around for the comeback his brother was stringing together, he just disappeared through the door and tried, ever so casually, to keep his own heart beat in check, just like she must have done. It didn't do well to dwell on the similarities of their exit from the Hospital Wing. She did it with more grace. She had kept her emotions in check. Fred on the other hand felt as though his screaming emotions couldn't be concealed much longer from the bed side visitors. He tried, to his failing, to drown out the thoughts churning in his head with every step—

There was only one reason Hermione would have ran as quickly as she had out of that room.

She still loved him.

Hermione still loved Ron.

Despite everything she had told Fred, there was still a corner of her heart that was Ron. And who knew, perhaps that corner was really Fred's while the larger part still pined for Ron.

She had let him have a corner and now he was to be put back in it.

With every step he took up the stairs, he tried to box away any romantic inclinations he had for Hermione. Tucking it into a niche he could close with bricks. He had misread her intentions, maybe he had misread his own feelings as well. Maybe he loved her the same way he loved Ginny and the past few months had only been different because he had almost lost her in the Department of Mysteries.

After all, She was that fiery witch who had once socked Malfoy in the face. She was that brave sister who he'd worried about the night Death Eaters threw juggles into the air the night of the Quidditch Cup. She had been a part of his family for nearly six years, it wasn't uncommon to begin to care for stray friends Ron brought home. After all, he thought of Harry as family too—

But like a ghost, the smell of lilacs and honey came back to him, knocking down any defense, any niche he had tried to construct. It was a house of cards, and she was the wind that held it at its mercy.

His feet seemed to be directed on the path he had walked the last time he was in the castle, climbing up higher and higher while his heart plummeted lower and the justifications for the last nine months of feelings crumbled.

Somethings couldn't get put in the box. Namely her eyes. She had very expressive eyes, usually the side glance she'd give when Harry or Ron sprouted out a plan she could find fifty different problems with. Or her laughing eyes when she walked into the shop. Or her soft, brown eyes. The ones that had haunted them in the summer when the looked at George with for boding—he had never figured out what that was about—but when her eyes were gentle and warm when she lowered her defenses and told him what was wrong.

Those eyes she had spilled tears on to his shirt last Christmas—

Those eyes usually came with the faintest of touches, as she opened herself up to being taken in his arms. So she could cry it out. So she could stop for a moment to be Hermione Granger, leader of a Rebellion and be the real, seventeen year old Hermione.

The seventeen year old Hermione whose eyes had captivated him without him realizing it.

The seventeen year old Hermione whose eyes had panicked when Ron said Lavender's name.

Navigating through the castle, his thoughts jumbled as they were, he tried to strip himself down to the memory—what had been the turning point to all of this. But he couldn't find one. It had been a bunch of little things in the beginning.

Some of them, like punching Malfoy and organizing the D.A—moments where she showed how strong she could be—those had been over the years. There wasn't a defining touch, or some catalyst that had made the smell of lilacs and honey to soar from his love potions. There wasn't a glare that had hit his heart or argument that had rearranged his affections. She had always been Hermione Granger and whether either of them knew it or not, she had been calling the shots longer than either of them realized.

And now, he needed to respect that. He needed to box up whatever it was he thought they were becoming and Let Her Be. Even if that meant—

 _Can you really be ok with her and Ron?_

He reached the tower door on the seventh floor and looked around before he opened the door. It was just a guess that she was here, but he had only taken a few steps when could here feet shuffling on the floor above. Fred waited, a few steps down, tucked behind the column. He hadn't thought what exactly to say to her. How he was going to help her.

He could see her from his perch, a few steps from the top of the landing, tucked behind the pillar of the spiral staircase. She had more color on her cheeks but he supposed that may just be from the exodus from the Hospital Wing and he drizzling rain. The storm had subsided from earlier, but the humidity was creeping up now, he could see her curls beginning to return into the frizzy nature he knew so well.

She was talking to herself. Hermione had stopped shuffling against the floor and was leaning now with her back against the wall, a hand tucking a strand of hair back in place. She started muttering again, _"It's Ron, it's all Ron—"_

He wondered if he could find a tower to run to. _Shouldn't have shown her this one Freddie,_ George seemed to coach in his ear, _Should have just let it be and stay in the Hospital Wing. Or found your own ruddy tower._

 _It's all Ron—_ He agreed, it was all Ron's fault. It was Ron's fault for not being good enough for her but stealing her affections. For surely leading her on only to crush her the blow that had been Lavender. Maybe, if Fred turned around now, the Hospital Wing could be cleared and he could transform his pillow into a Spider and he could exact phase one of his revenge.

Fred looked up at Hermione again. The way her eyebrows were set, she looked so much older than she was. It looked like she bore a burden behind her eyes, and Fred had the feeling that it had been hers for a while now. _It's your burden now too,_ he told himself. No place to run, but everything to hide. He took a deep breath and looked up towards her.

"It always was Ron growing up," he said emerging from his hiding place, his voice light and joking, as though he was trying extra hard to make sure none of his words had an edge to them. "At least thats what we told Mum."

More color seemed to return to her cheeks and he could see Hermione try and compose herself, standing upright and dismissing the weight beyond her eyes. Her hand shot out of her hair and she looked over with the feigned surprise he had learn to expect from her and her little trio. "Sorry?"

"What you were saying just now—" the words seemed like lead in his mouth now, " _It's all Ron—"_ he shrugged, hoping it would hide the recoiling flinch at his own words. "When we were kids, we'd always tell Mum it was Ron's fault. It worked until we overused it—"

She laughed at his words, leaning against the stonework of the wall again, " You heard me wrong," a genuine smile seeming to pull at her eyes, the spell of sadness dissipating. " _Wrong—_ I was saying it's all _wrong."_

"You don't have to pretend Hermione, it's just me up here," He said in his strongest yet least convincing brotherly voice. He too now leaning against the wall, looking over at her, trying to put on a feigned air of ease. "No audiences, just the two of us, you can always be honest with me."

Her smile began to droop, "Fred, I'm not pretending." She scrunched her eye brows as though she was trying to figure out a riddle, "What are you— _oh."_ The enlightened Hermione suddenly smacked his arm with the force his mother normally did, the eyebrows now crossed. "You _arse_ you think I left because what Ron said!"

"Well didn't you?" he asked. He hadn't anticipated asking this so fast. He thought he'd defuse the tension with an obscure, faux story from their childhood where he'd over exaggerate some flaw of Ron's and make it foreshadow of a dismal future with him. But instead here they were, leaning against the wall of the castle, directly discussing _feelings_ of all things.

She walked off for a minute, no longer by his side. He couldn't help but notice the chill of her absence.

"I said it was all _wrong_ because—" she paused for a minute. He could see her picking her words out carefully before she used them, weighing each one for effect, or maybe just for him. "Because quite frankly, everything is. Katie last fall, Ron now—it could easily have been Harry and Ron—"

"You're starting to sound like Wood," Fred said, shaking his head, "You starting to believe their picking out Gryffindor Quidditch Players? Should we take Ginny with us when we leave tonight?"

If his goal was to make her smile, he wasn't succeeding. If anything it just seemed to make her frown. "I'm serious Fred—" she sighed, turning from where she stood, now over looking the lake below, "This is all wrong. We shouldn't be having to deal with this—but we are. Ron was poisoned—and—"

This time there was no words that followed her hesitation. _You ruddy masochist,_ he thought of himself, kicking off the wall and walking to her side. He gingerly put an arm around her, finishing her sentence for her, "And if he had died, he'd have died without you telling him you love him, right?"

She turned her head ever so slightly to him, looking over her shoulder. He could see it was slightly shaking. Her humid tossed curls swaying side to side.

"He could have died and I wouldn't have told him that I was sorry," she said simply, "Sorry for being an arse these past few months and not talking to him—not being his friend."

Perhaps it was his hopeful ears, but it sounded to him as though she was putting more emphasis on that last word.

"So you and him—you _don't_ love him?" Fred asked, the last half hour that had weighed on him like a thousand years seeming to slip away like sand in her time turner.

"No," she laughed, shaking her head more obviously. "I think I did once, but that was a long time ago," her eyes trailed to the sky, stars starting to come out of the night's cover.

He paused before turning again, "So all those years of bickering—"

"Because that's the foot work of a solid relationship, being at each others throats?" she fired back, _You're pushing it Fred-be careful-_

"Well _we've_ been at each others throats," He said, his blood pounding in his head, he turned away from looking at her to looking down at the grounds as though that would make it easier.

"We have. You've called me a pesky know it all," she fired back.

" _You_ threatened to write my mother your fifth year," he challenged.

Her laugh fell flat, "You were testing products on first years, what was I supposed to do? Give you my blessing and nick a nougat myself?"

"Oh, Hermione Granger, Patron Saint of Prefects," he did a mocking bow, "I am just a trouble maker of meager substance, spare me the speech."

"Are all Weasley men arses or just the ones I fancy?" she spat, turning her attention back to the grounds.

She must not have realized what she said. _It just bubbled out with her temper,_ he told himself. But it didn't seem that way. Not really.

"You fancy me?" he asked, his voice softer now. He looked at her, trying to read her face in the torchlight. Standing there with her frizzy hair blowing in the wind, her face startled as though she realized what exactly it was she had just said. Fred never thought she had looked lovelier, maybe it was her words saying she didn't love Ron that were beautiful to him. That she fancied _him—or maybe it's another one, maybe she's holding out for Charlie—_

Hermione seemed to have sensed that he was watching her. "What are you thinking?" she asked, her eyes locked on his own, her brown, strong, challenging, determined eyes.

A lopsided grin broke over his face for the first time that night. "I'm not…"

He wondered if she knew what he was going to do before he did it. He took the step forward and kissed her. Before she could come up with any witty rebuttle, before she could say anything to change his mind, he silenced her lips with his.

There was no break in the clouds above. There weren't fireworks illuminating the sky. But there was her hand over his own. The one that was cupping her face. She wasn't trying to pry him away. If anything, she was holding him there keeping him close. The hand not a top his own was on his chest, the fingers playing with the tips of his collar her hand against his thundering heart.

She broke it first. A stunned look on her face. But it was pleasantly stunned.

"What are you thinking?" He asked, his heart beating fast, should he apologize? He didn't want to apologize. He wanted to do that again. And then perhaps again. He could be perfectly content standing atop that tower for the rest of his life.

"Fred," she said his name and reached for his hand again, "I'm not."

She kissed him this time and If not in the sky above, Fred felt as though there were fireworks going off in his heart.

((*))

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AN: First, some house keeping 200+ Reviews! Its been almost a year since I started and you beautiful readers. Thank you for your words of encouragement. You've kept me sane this year and I adore you all for it. Secondly: Pure Fluff. There's so many different ways I thought about doing this chapter but this is the one that seemed best out of all of them. I hope you liked it. Like I said, updates may become sporadic with work and developing relationships, but we're just getting to the good stuff.

Next Chapter: Hermione's reeling over what she's done and how it will effect everything. If you like the Hermione who looks and questions Pre and Post War life, step right up. Ron and Lavender develop some more... and Fred is Fred. Just wait and see.

Till next time my dear readers,

KH


	23. Falling Realities

AN: See Long An at the very end of this.

D: I didn't lie about being held at gunpoint in rio, but I did about when I'd update. xx

* * *

Falling Realities

* * *

She wasn't thinking.

Not _right then,_ not really.

He kissed her a second time, she a third time. It was half way through the fourth that the wheels in her head seemed to recover and the pleasant fog cleared enough for her brain to reset.

 _You're kissing Fred,_ her true self, the one who had survived the war only to be backhanded back in time, the Proper Hermione seemed to be shouting. She could envision her now. This Hermione was going mental, banging her arms against the glass cage. Her fury the only thing to escape her prison inside her head. _Stop it right now. Stop it—_

 _But I don't want to,_ a small voice countered back. Her head was wrapped in the smell of mahogany and gunpowder. Her finger tips seemed to be buzzing with electricity as she played with Fred's hair. Her other hand shocking herself with her grip on his shoulder, pulling her closer to him, not wanting to be moved. Not yet.

 _Stop it,_ the insistent, nagging voice continued in her head, like the sound of annoying fly in the ear, _you stop this now. He's the wrong brother. You're kissing the wrong brother._

She pressed herself ever closer to him right then, feeling his arm curl protectively around her waist. A smooth sway in the wind that was gently swaying them both a top the tower.

 _No,_ she countered, her senses swirling, _I'm kissing the right one._

Harry had once told said, in the post war, that kissing Ginny that first time in the Gryffindor Common Room was like basking in the glow of several Sunlit Days. At the time, Hermione had heckled him for being the romantic. It was a playful heckle, but one she couldn't help but smile.

And she was smiling even wider now. If Harry had those sunlit afternoons, Hermione felt like she was in her own perfect, precious, pocket of time. One that she wasn't willing to give up. No matter how much the real her screamed.

 _But he's the wrong brother—your making a mistake—_

 _No,_ she tried again, _you are._

Hermione pulled away first, her heart beating in defiance to the past. Fred pressed his forehead down to her own. "I knew that was too good to be true," he said, his voice a little husky.

"What do you mean?" she asked alarmed, as though he could have read her mind just then.

"You started thinking," he laughed, kissing her forehead and sitting down in a spot next to her. She sat down too along the stone base. It was cooler down here. Still humid from the rain but cool all the same.

"Oh shut up," she quipped, hitting his arm. He flinched and took that moment to wrap his arm around her shoulders. It didn't take more than a moment for Hermione to lean her head against his shoulder.

"Had I known kissing you was the best way to clear your mind I'd have done it a long time ago," Fred said with a laugh enveloping his voice. She could feel his finger playing with a curl, he turned his gaze to her again, as though he was momentarily hesitant. "I _wish_ I had done that—I've been feeling that way for a while now."

"Yeah?" she asked meeting his eyes. She could feel a smile curling at her lips. The warmth spilling through her chest like a sunbeam.

"Yeah," he answered, a similar, goofy look starting spread across his own face. "I guess we'll just have to make up for lost time and all."

It wasn't the practical Hermione that had beckoned her out of her pleasure, it was this word. Time. _Time. It's always bloody time._

"How are we going to make this work?" she asked, breaking his gaze and returning her head to his shoulder. "We've got three months till term ends—"

"Is that what made you start thinking?" Fred asked, his voice sheer jovial, "Hermione, we'll just keep doing what we have been—and I'll find a way to drop in every now and again," he said with a smile. "After all, Dumbledore needs his Owl Post. We'll just learn to coordinate. We've got those Galleons from the DA days, I'll send you word when I'm coming and—could we isolate the connection so the entire DA isn't given heads up to rendezvous at the tower?"

She fought it but a smile spread to her face, "Just promise me you won't deliver singing telegrams like Lockhart."

He raised his eyebrow as though warning, "George has been working on musical Howlers. It'll only take a few modifications and I'd sing much better than old Lockhart."

The thought of a musical expression of love echoing off the walls and shaking dust from the rafters of the Great Hall made her cringe. _George—_ The practical Hermione seemed to break out again, "What are we going to do about your family? Do we tell them?"

He seemed to be weighing this out, "We could—"

"But?"

"Maybe wait till Ron's out of the infirmary?" he offered, " He'll think we're upstaging his brush with death and declaration of love for Lavender?"

"Or we could just wait," she quipped, resting her head on his shoulder. "After all, they might figure it out on their own— Ginny's observant enough—and your mum will know when she see's us at the train station."

"You think we'll give it away there?" Fred asked, an eye brown shooting up, "You supposing we'll be the new Phlegm?"

She spoke before the words cleared her mind. "You think we won't?"

He shrugged, and then after a moments pause he sighed, "She might start getting theories when I start snogging you the moment you step off the train."

She felt her cheeks turn crimson as she tried to burry them in his shirt. "It's getting late, do you think we should leave?"

"Do I think we should—yes. Do I want to," she could feel his lips moving against the top of her head, "No. I really don't want to."

She didn't really know what she wanted to say. She wanted to stay too. She wanted to stay on this tower until the day after the war ended. Just her and a living, breathing Fred. Head still on his shoulder, her hand tracing his finger tips.

"Fred—" Hermione began.

He looked at his watch the small planets revolving, "Hospital Wing closes in twenty minutes. Want me to walk you back there?"

"It's alright, I'll just go back to Gryffindor Tower," she said. He was already up on his feet, his hand already extended to her. She took it again and noticed he pulled her a little too fast, as she rose to her feet and landed against his chest.

"You did that on purpose," she smirked. Keeping a hold of her hand he led her down the stairs, "You'll find out soon enough Hermione, I do everything with a purpose."

* * *

((*))

* * *

"Will you have enough time to get to the Hospital Wing?" Hermione asked once they reached the tower, "George won't leave without you?"

"Nah, he's smart. He'll say I probably got carried away eating down stairs and wait in the kitchens. Something like that, " Fred assured her, swinging her hand in his as they made their way to the last step, "Standard procedure. If lost, meet in the kitchens."

"Filtch would have your head if he found you in the castle again," Hermione warned, trying to hide a smirk as she met his eyes.

"I'd like to see him try" he answerd looking down at their hands.

The Fat Lady roused from her sleep looked down at Fred, "Oh look, the Prodigal son's returned," she scoffed, "If Argus Filtch comes with his irons and chains I'm _still_ not letting you in."

"A right peach you are, aren't you?" Fred smirked looking at the portrait and then Hermione, "Never get on her bad side."

"I'll keep that in mind," Hermione answered, "But she does have a point. You should head back before you get caught."

Again she looked at him and she didn't quite know what to say. Was this what emotions had done to her? Rendered her speechless?

His eyes were softer. That hint of mischief that was so familiar with a look from him seemed to have melted into warmth. Or perhaps it had always been there and she hadn't noticed. She found herself again, wrapping her arms around him. "Stay safe out there Fred." She muttered in his shoulder, as though a prayer.

He looked down at her, brushing a strand of hair away, "You stay safe in here. We'll be together again soon. Just you wait." He said the last words as his thumb brushed against her cheek.

"You're not going to hide in the Room of Requirement are you?" Hermione asked, half hopeful, half terrified.

He didn't say anything, just smiled as he made his way down the stairs. "Don't give him ideas," the Fat Lady warned, "That's all this castle needs."

"Tapeworm" Hermione said.

"Yes, he is," the Portrait sighed as she opened the door.

She was half way through the door when she heard something from behind her. A scream. As though someone was calling out.

"Fred?" she asked. Her hand tightening on her wand. She tried to turn around and go out the portrait hole when she realized that the hole was gone. It was only a stone wall. She looked in front of her, the scream now becoming clearer. It was a cry. A deep, guttural cry coming from somewhere in front of her.

She wasn't standing in the Gryffindor common room but a hallway, rubble up and down the path. Someone had blown the sidewall connecting it to a larger corridor. It'd look a lot larger she supposed, if it wasn't for the rubble that littered her path, the helmet of a knight still twitching on the floor as his disconnected arm tried to crawl towards it.

There was smoke and ash. She couldn't see clearly. The hallway was dim save for one flickering torch that refused to go out. It filled her with a sense of foreboding. As though it knew far better than what she would find. Where had her sunlit days gone? Where was she—what was going on?

And that scream—it was coming from the end of the hallway, somewhere around the corner on the landing.

Her insides tensed up. Her senses had come back to her and she knew where she was. She was in _the_ hallway. The one above the seventh floor landing. She looked down to her wrist, she was clutching Fred's Bracelet, still safely latched to her arm.

 _How cruel is it if Time has pulled you back only to watch him die—_ but surely it wasn't. Surely He wouldn't die this time. Surely she had subconsciously done something that would have lead to his survival. She couldn't think what, but she _had_ to have done something.

An explosion shook the ground. The Battle of Hogwarts was raging around her. Peace hadn't been called yet. Fred could still be alive. She could find him—she could fight with him. Put a shield spell on him. Make rocks rubber. She could do that—she would do that—all she had to do was concentrate and find him.

But the screaming—it was a sob again, and the sob was becoming stronger.

Wand extended out, she made her way to the source. Whoever it was, they were calling attention to themselves. And if Hermione could find it, a Death Eater could silence them almost as swiftly. She would see if they were in immediate danger. If they were she'd help. Otherwise, she'd have to cast off a look of sympathy and see if she could find him.

As Hermione made her way around the corner, the scene before her was more visible than the hallway had been.

At the edge of the landing, there was a figure. They were small, Hermione may even say petit. Their hair was matted in some places, burned in others. It looked as though it had been unkempt for a while and the clothes on the figure seemed loose. Their arms were blackened, and Hermione didn't know if it was from the rubble or if it was from something else. She could see must have once been a white bandage wrapped around their form arm. But it was grey now. Not quite as dark as the rest of their arm.

As she got closer she could see her fingers were black with red at the finger tips.

 _That's blood—_

The figure was crouched down. Hermione could see that they had pulled someone out of the rubble and leaned them into a niche. They were visibly shaking. Her heart stopped when she saw they were cradling the upper torso of the fallen. A limp, redhead bouncing as they shook violently.

Hermione knew this battle. And she knew that who ever that was, they weren't there anymore, not really. They were gone. And there was nothing Madam Pomfrey could do to revive them.

"It's too late for them," Hermione called as she made her way, her voice strong. _Cruel_ , she thought to herself, _no need to be blunt._

 _But no need to give false hope either—_ she countered. "Come on, we can hold them off from higher ground—they'll probably call a cease fire in a bit, we'll come back then."

At the sound of her voice the cries from the figure ceased. The woman who had been cradling stopped, though keeping a tight grip on the form, still shielding the face. When she turned, Hermione's insides tightened as though they wished they could disappear all together.

She recognized the face now. The uneven singed hair. The dark, grimy fingers. She had forgotten how bad they had gotten that day, digging through rocks to get into the Chamber of Secrets—digging people out— How the tips seemed to be encased in the blood of those she hadn't been able to save.

Hermione Granger looked down at herself and she knew something was indeed wrong.

She tried to balance herself as she fell to her knees. Trying to lift the fallen's shoulder, see their face—make sure it wasn't—

" _Fred?"_

"Is on his way back from the Chamber of Secrets," her past self explained. She thought she was the past self anyway. She seemed to be the one who knew what was going on.

She also seemed to be looking at _her_ with disgust and self loathing. As though she was the enemy here, not the Death Eaters.

"But he—He didn't go to the Chamber of Secrets, he was on the Grounds with George," she tried to counter, "Ron—"

"This time he went." The other her spat, "but _he_ didn't."

Suddenly the world began to spin and the floor drop from under her feet. She knew which one had been taken. " _Ron—"_

"You chose the wrong brother," she angrily cried, her voice breaking over the word. "You chose the wrong brother and because of that, Harry's lost his best friend. I lost my Ron."

The Past Hermione tightened her fists in Ron's shirt, as though if she put enough pressure she might be able to bring him back. Hermione could see the grimy tear tracks, the only clean skin on her face.

"I didn't—" Hermione looked from her own face to Ron's. "He was—he said Lavender. Back in the Hospital Wing. He called for Lavender."

This made the crying worse. Hermione tried to touch his face, to find someway to say this wasn't true. But her past self wouldn't allow it. She grabbed him protectively, as though even in Death he was to be kept safe from her.

"Don't touch him—" she barked, Hermione didn't know she could cry this hard. Her own wand was now pointed at her face. "You knew you weren't supposed to mess with time but you didn't listen. You didn't listen and he died. You murdered Ron Weasley—"

"No, I—" Hermione was looking around. She was rooted on the spot. Her own damning words condemning her as Ron's vacant eyes looked on, piercing her like knives.

"You chose the wrong brother. You've murdered Ron Weasley."

" _No—I—"_

She could hear her name, and suddenly she was shaking, being shaken violently. Soon she wasn't standing but realized that she was lying down on her bed. Paravati looking down at her with uncharacteristic concern. "Hermione" she sternly called, "Hermione it's a dream wake up—"

Her heart was still racing. She looked around her. She was lying safe and sound in her four poster bed. The pinks of morning sunrise being panted outside her window. Paravati was wearing her pajamas and had her hair in its usual night time braid. Hermione looked over to the other bed, where it appeared Lavender was missing.

"It was just a dream, whatever it was it was just a dream," Paravati soothed. She pointed at an empty glass and whispered _Agumenti!_ Looking down and admiring her own handiwork, she passed the glass to Hermione.

"It was just a dream," Hermione repeated to herself. But it seemed so much more then that. It felt like a warning. "Where's Lavender?" Hermione asked, nodding her head to the bed.

Paravati rolled here eyes, " Wanted to get up to the Hospital Wing first chance it opens."

"Hospital—" and then it all came back to her. A reality where Ron was still alive, but still in mortal peril. _And was it going to be because of her—_

"She was up there when it closed. Got to meet all the Weasleys. Well, except the twins, one of them was missing—but it's not like she doesn't know them."

"Right—I ran into Fred on my way back from the Hospital Last night, he'd been down in the kitchens knicking a meal," she replied absently. _Focus on something else. Focus on the water. Not Fred, not Ron. Focus on something that makes sense…._

 _Focus—_

None of it made sense. Not at first. Worst of all, she wasn't making any sense in it either.

The timelines had been contaminated. _She_ had done that. She had sworn she wouldn't but she had sworn that she would change it. Time had become as fluid as she was right now. Nothing was the same and she was to blame.

Hermione rose out of bed and reached for one of the water basins the House Elves had placed on the girls vanity. Taking her own wand and conjuring the water, she scooped it in her hands and brought it against her face, letting the cold try and calm her racing mind.

They had kissed on the tower.

He had walked her back to Gryffindor Tower, he and kissed her again. She thought.

But she walked through the portrait hole and went to bed. She remembered skipping up the steps and falling asleep. The dream was just that—a dream. Her brain playing with her after a painful, unexpected day.

Because at the very least her dream was right in one thing—she was off the known path from the past. Everything from here on out was unknown.

Love—and possibly death—included.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Sun was streaming through the windows to Fred and George's flat.

The rain that had soaked the north hadn't made it to London. It was one of those rare spring mornings in where a lesser man would keep the shop closed and wander through one of the city parks instead.

When George walked out of his bedroom he was surprised to see his brother in the kitchen, a red mixing bowl floating behind his head while a whisk sent batter carelessly across the cabinets. Fred appeared to be oblivious, flipping through a book with while flour added itself to the mix.

"Morning," George said, cautiously taking a mug of tea that was siting on the counter. "Woke up with a baking itch did you?"

"Hm?" Fred asked turning his attention away from the book, "Oh yeah. Starving—woke up and thought scones would be good."

"Because you ate so much in the kitchens last night," George started, looking down at the tea with uncertainty. Fred turned his attention away from his brother and back to the book, "Oh Shut it."

George pulled out a Flask from behind the bread box and shook some Fire whiskey into the cup before continuing on, "No, No I'm not going to shut it. I had to meet Lavender, you got to go galavanting with Granger because we both know you weren't in the kitchens."

George noticed how his brothers shoulders seemed to contract when he had said Hermione's name and he knew he was right, " Go for another midnight stroll of the castle?"

"I wanted to make sure she was alright after Ron proved he was an idiot," Fred said plainly. His brother a good liar—to anyone other than his twin. But George could enjoy it for now. He didn't have the heavy eyes from staying up all night trying to figure out how to relay the news Remus was giving him to the magical population at large. He hadn't fallen asleep with a new defense item blue print sticking to his face.

Instead, he had fallen asleep thinking about a girl. One George was certain he had kissed.

Because Fred always ended up in the kitchen after a good snog.

"And was she? Alright?" George asked before taking a swig of his Fire Tea.

A large wave of batter landed itself across George's face. He wiped it from his eyes only to look down and see a larger blob floating in his tea.

"She's fantastic, thank you," Fred said with an all too innocent smile. "Sorry about that, you didn't want any did you?"

George smirked, "I'm alright. Think I've had enough anyway." He shook some batter from his ear, "And are you two—"

"We're fantastic too," Fred answered and George looked over at his brother, noting the the look of ease on his face.

George found himself hoping that maybe, just maybe, Remus wouldn't drop in today. Or tomorrow. That perhaps an owl would come announcing that Voldemort had suffered a heart attack-tricky with his lack of heart-and died and there wouldn't be a war. Just an endless spring that could tempt the brothers to close the shop for the day and head north, where he'd have his brother's attention until a little Prefect skipped down the steps and into his arms.

But you can't grant wishes from the weather.

"Prophet came today, there was another attack, not far from where Remus said the werewolf colony was last camped," Fred answered looking away from the cookbook. "The pamphlets are working George-they attacked an empty house. _Five_ empty houses."

"The pamphlets worked?" George said again, the hopeful spring dismissed to a back shelf of his brain, "So if pamphlets in a pub work, imagine if we were able to do secret encryptions on packaging- send it out as a marketing campaign-"

"I'm already ahead of you with some designs. The Quibbler had some Whacky-do-whatever glasses in an issue last spring. We could develop something like that, send it out in samples and then find away to distribute mass advertisements with warnings you could read with the glasses. I could ask Hermione, she's handy with encrypting messages remember?" Fred interrupted, "But if we can get information and if people will listen-"

"Than we could save lives," George finished. He looked at the headline _Welsh Wolves attack Vacant Hamlet,_ a scratched up door swinging in the picture covered in batter. He looked at his brother again. "Must have been a really good song to get you developing a plan like this," he started before another wave of batter made it over the edge of the bowl.

* * *

((*))

* * *

AN:

Alright. Authors Note. Note de Author. Here we go.

First off, Thanks for all the continual love this story has been getting. I check in every week and there's a note, review, follow etc. and its been little rays of sunshine. I hadn't realized it'd been so long since I updated...

Typically you lot get a good round of excuses. I like to think I'm pretty honest in my authors notes (re: Chapter 14). I would love to tell you that i have Chapter 24 all queued up and ready to go but I can't. This story is going to be a little irregular. Hopefully I'll update in a shorter window than last time, and _**I'm**_ too invested in this story to abandon it. The next few chapters may be a little faster pace, but we're going to finish this. I've been re-reading book 7 and book marking ideas. and connecting themes. We're going to have fun. I just ask that you be patient as I get it all up here. Work is getting better but I need to bring balance to the force/commitments before I bring press updates. I'm also really unsure of this piece. Its been so long since I updated I feel like this is really stiff.

Finally, We're going to pretend like Curse Child never happened. Savvy? Savvy.

But I loved writing the dream sequence. Absolutely loved it.

So as always, please let me know what you thought! Chapter 24 will be more of Fred and George working with Remus on their secret project, Hermione has a meeting with Dumbledore. It's going to be more exciting than it sounds.

Stay save dear readers. To those heading back to uni, take care. To those still in school, you will get through this.

For the rest of us, Raise a Glass to Freedom.~KH


	24. Falling Plans

AN: This is coming far too late than I had originally intended and much later than any of you all deserve. The past few months have been among the very best and as of the last few weeks among my worst. No Sob Story. You don't want to read that. But, despite my crash computer ( alas, we mourn the marriage law fic that never was…) here's a little diddy of a chapter brought to you by my work lap top (please don't fire me.)

* * *

Chapter 24:

Falling Plans

* * *

Hermione's life seemed to be in a spiral fall for the rest of the week.

Sleep eluded her. When it finally came, it was racketed with nightmares similar to the first one. Always the same hall way, but the faces changed. Sometimes it was Ron she dug out of the rubble. Other times it was Fred. She waited in perpetual fear that one night when she closed her eyes it would be Harry's turn, and he would be the face she dug out. But not yet. For now, Hermione's meddling of the time line hadn't jeopardized Harry's attempt for survival.

But last night had been different. Last night _she_ was under the rubble. Lying there in the dark. She wondered if that was it, and she was actually going to have a some what decent night's sleep when she felt the rocks around her shift, and guttural cry break out as Fred found her.

" _No—God please no—Hermione—"_ his voice broke when he said her name. She couldn't move, she couldn't say anything. She couldn't blink her eyes shut. She just exist right then in his arm as he rocked her back and forth.

Aside from being dead, and of course Fred being so effected by her death, she preferred this dream over the other alternatives. She had even begun to think that this would be a possibility. If Ron's life was in flux, if Fred's was—why would she be excluded?

If her death meant Harry would survive to finish the job, she could do that. That's what she had resolved last time. It was her same resolution.

 _But what would that mean for Fred if you left him behind?_

Plenty of time for that, she thought. Plenty of time and—he would understand. At least, she hoped he would understand…

She sat in the Gryffindor Common Room the Saturday night following Ron's attack. Harry had joined Ron in the Hospital Wing, following McClaggan's Quidditch Foley, and the mob that had emerged from the portrait hole following the defeat had dissipated, most of the students turning in for an early night. In true Gryffindor fashion there were a handful of students nursing the loss with some goods from the kitchen and a smuggled case of Butterbeers, a few of them even coaxing the defeat with talks how they were still up for the cup in a few scenarios.

Despite the loss, Ron was ecstatic; while Harry's entry to the Hospital Wing took some of the attention away from him, it also brought new faces and visitors. The story of Ron Weasley's poisoning had caused quite a stir at breakfast the morning after the attack. The story Ron had given, of the poison, of telling Harry what to do through spasms—that had been fed as gospel to the other houses courtesy of Lavender Brown, Ron's official companion through the ordeal. Hermione had seen Harry roll his eyes a couple times during her retelling of the story, throwing Hermione a smirk as he shook his head, but otherwise didn't say anything and let him bask in the glory of survival.

Now stories would churn of Harry and yet another fall from the Quidditch Pitch. If Draco Malfoy wasn't coming up with half hearted attempts to murder Dumbledore, she supposed he would take today's events as though Christmas had come early. Not only had Gryffindor Lost, but Harry had been made the fool by his own Chaser, falling to the ground before the teachers had interfered.

 _But Malfoy isn't Malfoy this year. This year, he's a prisoner just like you are._

Hermione remained alone, awake in the tower now. Books spread out on the carpet in front of the fire as she leaned against the chair, fingers tracing the pages of her book, trying to see what other event could possibly be jeopardized. Her stomach felt like it was full of a cauldron's content, bubbling with dread.

 _Everything. Everything could be at risk now._

Ron choosing Lavender, that wasn't the end all be all. In fact, aside the fact of awkward months of prolonged snogging, it wouldn't effect her at the least. Despite Lavender proving the most faithful of girlfriends—she had been at the Hospital Wing from start to finish of visiting hours, trudging up Ron's Wizard Chess set to keep him company—Hermione doubted the relationship would last when fall came around when Harry, Ron and Hermione appeared missing from the train. Despite the story of Spattergoit, Lavender would know her Sweetheart was gallivanting somewhere with Hermione Granger and that would be enough for her demons to run and for her to end the relationship.

 _Spattergoit though—you're going to have to look at that too—_ if Ron and Lavender spent every waking moment with each other, wouldn't it make sense for her to have it too?

Or worse, what if she tried to get to Ron at the Burrow—Molly Weasley would be better prepared for the companion of the Phlegm, and would act to kill if she jeopardized Harry's Mission.

She scribbled _Spattergoit_ across the margin of a list of events she had come up as vital for the next year; possible fixed points. The Rescue of the Cattermoles—that was more for the Cattermoles and other Muggleborns that it was for Harry—and perhaps it was for her too. She couldn't stand by and let it happen—Ron Leaving, or else they never would've gone to Godric's Hollow, where Harry would end up find out about Grindelwauld—Malfoy Manor— _Malfoy Manor—_

She looked at her forearm. It was still smooth, the light of the crackling fire giving the normal pale skin a blush like a sunset. Maybe if she did a charm before hand, or asked Fred to try and come up with some numbing agent so she didn't feel the pain…

 _Is it worth it to know how it ends?_ She thought, _would it be wrong for it to all just go away? To try and figure it out the second time but not bare guilt or shame if you can't save everyone?_ She was thinking this might be a solution. McGonagall had suggested it at first—and it would be a solution too when Bellatrix tried to read her mind at the Manor.

 _She can't read something if you've forgot it._

A crack, louder than the fire, sounded behind Hermione. She jumpt forward, nearly sumer saulting and pulling her wand out from beside her and pointing it at a very befuddled Dobby, who at seeing a wand between his eyes jumped back himself.

"Dobby, oh I'm sorry," Hermione said, dropping the wand, her hand pressing her temples together. "I wasn't expecting the House Elfs to be coming up already to clean, I didn't know you apparated in—"

"Dobby hasn't come to clean, Missus," he said, his hand clenching a scroll which he extended towards Hermione, "Professor Dumbledore asked Dobby to get this to Miss Granger immediately, without delay," he explained, "Apparating has the least amount of room for delay."

Hermione opened the scroll to see the familiar emerald ink and slanted hand writting, _I received your note upon my arrival. Please come immediately, tell the Gargoyle you favor Aeros._

She took the note and threw it to the fire, "Come on Dobby," Hermione said, getting up and clearing her journal to empty pages, tucking it in with the other books on the floor, "Let's see what the Headmaster thinks."

* * *

((*))

* * *

"I See another Gryffindor thought it prudent to go to the Hospital Wing in my absence," Dumbledore said upon her arrival in his office. Fawkes sat cooing on the window perch, and the instruments atop his desk played a melodic hum.

"One day they'll rename that the Harry Potter Hospital Wing," Hermione said with a smile, "I think he's spent the most time in there than any our year."

Dumbledore smiled and sat behind his desk, "Poppy tells me the minute Harry Potter graduates from this school she'll be turning in her notice. She had said the Weasley twins were going to put her in an early grave but after your first year I think her first and primary mission became keeping you three alive."

"She did a good job," Hermione answered plainly, "If it all works out—we do."

The smile on Dumbledore's face slid and he looked at Hermione as though she had told him she was sick. "I read your letter, about the dream." He sighed, pulling the letter out and looking over it again. "Have you had more?"

"Almost every night," Hermione answered, "Sometimes its Fred I dig out, other time's its Ron. When it's Ron the real me is there telling me I chose the wrong brother. That I killed Ron Weasley."

"And when it's Fred?"

Hermione paused for a minute, trying to remember if there was a cry out—

"I—I break down. Start to go numb. She'll stand there and watch, but not say anything."

"Has, Has Harry ever been in the rubble?" Dumbledore asked, his features sharp as though it were carved in stone.

She shook her head, "As far as I see, choosing Fred hasn't resulted in Harry's death."

It was as if though a mountain had been lifted from Dumbledore's shoulders. "Very good," he sighed, "Very, Very Good. And I'm happy to hear about you and Mr. Weasley" he said with a smile that seemed to touch his eyes, "There ought to be more love in the world."

"But Professor—"she started, "Professor, I can't get the thought of them dying out of my mind—Harry's death isn't in my dreams but—it's different. It's not like other people who I know will die. I feel as though I have more power than I should—that I could unwittingly end up killing people because Fred and I—"

Her words stopped as everything and everyone she had suppressed into the little book seemed to crash down on her. Collin. Lavender. Dobby. Nigel. Mad Eye. Tonks. Lupin. Fred. "Professor, would—would there be any way for you to erase my memories?"

The smile was gone.

"You want me to modify your memories so you don't remember what's to come? So it's as if you were never sent back in time—"

She nodded. She had been think about this, perhaps subconsciously for a while. If her memories were modified, she wouldn't know when the dust cleared if Fred or Ron were alive or dead. And if one of them were, she wouldn't know it was her fault. She wouldn't do anything that would compromise the search for the Horcruxes. The logical, cool and collected Hermione Granger would return and they would all be better off for it.

"Miss Granger, it's nothing short of miraculous that you three completed the task I left you. You know what will happen. You know how it will all end—if anything that's an asset; to try and replicate the same thing by chance—"

"It could prove all the more successful," she pushed back, "Professor, I—I've had nightmares long before this. Of other people, other people I couldn't have saved even if I tried. Who's not to say when I have to go through it again I don't clamp up and lose it? What if I forget something and it dooms us all? What if—"

"I've told you that this time around it would be harder for you," Dumbledore said quietly, "And I don't desire for you to go through more than you already have. None of you. You have already sent your parents away, memories modified. You have gambled your heart with a man who may die—this on top of the scares you carry from the first war—"

"Those scares aren't healed and they'll do more damage than they will good," Hermione protested.

"You'll be going into this war with more experience than the entire Order of the Phoenix combined. Harry Potter couldn't have a better resource than you."

"Please," Hermione asked, her voice breaking, "Professor, please—"

"For the Greater Good Miss Granger, we must press on for the Greater Good," He said, looking down. Fawkes turned to the scene, the old man behind his desk as Hermione's lungs seemed to collapse and the air vanish from them instantaneously.

"There's other ways—I could ask someone else to modify—"

"My dear Miss Granger," the Headmaster started, pain in his expression as well, "There are only two people that know of your travels in time. I doubt Professor McGonagall would go against my decision."

Hermione stood up from her chair, "Then perhaps someone else needs to know" she said before silently leaving the office and running down the stairs.

This was the second time she had fled Dumbledore's office in tears without dismissal. When had she gotten to be so emotional? Hermione kept her emotions in check. She had last lost it when Snape had made remarks about the beaver teeth Pansy Parkinson had given her fourth year. Other than that she had kept it together.

Somewhere between being on the run and the last funeral, that had all changed. She hated it, but she cried. Quite a bit. It felt as though she had spent her life time quota on tears in less than a year's time. Molly had said it wasn't a bad thing to cry—that it wasn't a sign of weakness, but Hermione couldn't stop but struggle and hate herself when it snuck up on her.

She knew she didn't really want Dumbledore to take her memories. But she wanted the hurt to go away. She didn't feel like a solider anymore. She didn't feel like she could be of use to anyone anymore without threatening to crack under pressure.

 _Maybe telling someone wouldn't be a bad idea,_ but the idea died as soon as she thought of it. Who could she possibly tell who wouldn't feel like her, as though they had been given a burden they had neither asked nor cared for?

She was half way to the tower before she realized she wasn't going to Gryffindor tower. She kept climbing stairs until she reached the door that lead to _their_ tower. Where, only a week ago, she had forgotten she was Hermione Granger, the time traveler. When she had just been Hermione and he had just been Fred. When she had beautiful moments of not thinking about anything. When their biggest concern was how to tell the family without Ron attempting to murder both of them.

The tower top seemed colder without him there. The wind was starting to pick up and she could hear a wolf crying out across the lake. The moonlight shone down on the hill across the lake, the one that in a years' time may bare white stones.

" _You can't take him!"_ she yelled out against the wind, the rage behind her tears spilling out of her " _You hear me, you can't take any of them!"_ She yelled again, loud and wildly, as though her existence depended on those words and those words alone. She collapsed on the stones and let the racking pain in her chest heave out as her tears sealed her midnight vow.

* * *

((*))

* * *

It had been one of Fred Weasley's best weeks. And also perhaps one of the toughest.

Dumbledore left the school on Monday to do business, so there was no need for him to go to deliver post at the Castle. Which, roughly translated to meaning he hadn't seen Hermione since he left her at the Portrait hole. He had hoped that perhaps Dumbledore would've heard, the Fat Lady was a bit of a gossip. If he didn't know better, he'd guess she had told the entire school, or at the very least the Gryffindors, about the two of them. Dumbledore, the sentimental sap, would've heard of the young love and asked for his grocery list to come through the post, courtesy of Fred Weasley.

 _But no, of course not. No need to call for Fred Weasley. Not yet anyway._

So he had turned to writing her letters. He didn't know if the first one had cleared the mail screening. He didn't like the thought of his first letters to Hermione being read by prying eyes, so he had asked Tonks to drop them off when she got to the school, or when she was on guard in Hogsmeade.

They weren't anything special he supposed. Just a few lines. Encouragement for her classes. Volunteering to come and help clear her mind when she didn't need to think anymore. Things like that.

But in his dreams—they were going on adventures, the two of them. Swimming in the pond by the Burrow. Going dancing in Muggle London. Splashing her as she sunbathed on the Southern Coast. Camping like they were at the Quidditch World Cup. Last night he had a dream of the two of them somewhere foreign. Sitting snuggled side by side as they went up a ski lift, his perfect state of content reflected back to him with her ski goggles.

He had taken her hand and seen the charm of the time turner glittering in the sunlight, an eerie blue around it before he woke up.

The shop was starting to pick up; with more reports of attacks bad day boxes were flying off the shelves quicker than they could make them. Pygmy Puffs seemed to be the latest source of comfort for OWL students; in all honesty, it was a good thing Dumbledore hadn't needed his post or Fred was sure George would've throttled the old man. And what time wasn't being invested in keeping the shop running was being spent in their communications campaign.

Their initial idea of partnering with the Quibbler to pass secret messages had only fueled Lovegood's fire, but Fred was starting to see doubt. People still favored the Prophet, now that Fudge was out of Office. Many thought it was going back to its proper place in touting the true and accurate news. It still had a very heavy Ministry bias but people would choose that over cover stories from the Quibbler.

"What if we put an advertisement in the Prophet, something vague, " George said late Saturday night the eraser of his pencil thumping against his temple. "Something vague but obvious enough to say 'Greyback attack headed for your neighborhood.'"

"But how would someone in the Moors understand that?" Fred asked back, "It won't be worth it if no one gets it."

George straightened up and looked at their list of ideas they had been working on the past few days. "Have you asked Granger about it yet? She might have an idea."

"You know how long it takes for post to get through—apparently they're adding another wave to go through it after Ronnikin's poisoning," Fred answered, looking too down at the list. He noted his brother smile.

"What are you smirking at?" he asked, uneasy when it hadn't gone away after a few moments. "Just that even though he doesn't know you're seeing her, Ron's already doing his best to get in the way. And he doesn't even know it, bless him."

Fred casually elbowed George in the arm, "Just making an observation, that's all. When are you guys going to tell the family, I want to make sure I have snacks for the battle that goes down."

"We're just going to let them discover it casually," Fred said nonchalantly. That _was_ what they had talked about, he thought. He still liked the thought of telling Ron while he was in the hospital so Madam Pomfrey could drug him as needed—

"So at the train station," George said with a smile, "I'll see if I can knick some candies from the trolley witch, she still has a soft spot for me I think."

"Yeah and I think she gave us so many free samples hoping we would get fat and not try and run off the train again," Fred sighed, rolling his eyes and throwing the pencil down. In frustration he ran his hand through his hair, trying to clear his mind in hopes to find what they were missing.

"What do people know about the resistance?" George said after a moment.

"That we're out numbered—"

"Well, yes, that, "George started scribbling something down and turned to Fred. "They won't know any of our code words. The Order is known to some, but not all. And for good reason, we need that little bit of anonymity. People know who are loyal to Dumbledore. Maybe we're looking at all this wrong. We're trying to think how we can get mass messages out to the public but instead maybe we need to think of how to get mass messages out to the Order."

"Go ahead, this is the best we've had since color coding our packages," Fred said, folding his arms and leaning back in the chair as his brother went to work.

"We'll have to come up with a name that people from the Order would know. Padfoot maybe?"

"Death Eaters have Pettigrew we can't go off of the Marauder's Map," Fred sighed, "But I understand what you're thinking. So we have the code word, now what?"

"Alright, say it was just 'Padfoot' for example—Wanted: Skilled Wizard to teach ill child, Start date would be when the attack is coming and then the location would be where it was headed. All inquiries send to Mr. Padfoot, and then we set up a bogus address. If they Order see that in the Prophet and they understand, they can let people in their area know."

"It's not bad Georgie," Fred smiled, "I think it could work."

"Would you like me write up the proposal to Dumbledore or would you like to do the honors?" George started but then paused, "How about I write it and you deliver it eh? Probably too important for it to go through the usual routes of communication, don't you think?"

"You're a good brother when you're not a bloody romantic, you know?" Fred asked as George took out a paper and started scratching out their plan.

"Let's be honest, I've always had a soft spot for Granger and the thought of her having to endure the nausea of Won-Won and Lav-Lav without the occasional interruption from yourself seems unbearable," he replied, "I'm a selective Romantic. And don't you dare tell that to Angie."

"Right," Fred said, before he looked at the pile on his desk. There were still plenty of ideas to be worked on before the term ended and their summer rush began. He and George had thought about still expanding to Hogsmeade but he had a feeling that would have to wait till after the War. He could see how their communications network might end up taking more time than he had anticipated.

"You know this is only a stepping stone, right Freddie?" George asked, as though he knew what his brother was thinking, "This will work for the short term but if things get worse—if Voldemort gets a hold of the Prophet—"

"We'll have to think of an Option B. One that won't risk too many people from the Order," Fred answered. "They'll intercept owls, they'll meddle with the Prophet. Lovegood's press will hold out for a while but there's no guarantees' they won't go after him when he gets too loud—"

"So we're going to have to think of a way to get news to the masses in absolutely secrecy," George said, looking at his freshly started parchment as thought it was already dead in the water.

"We're going to have to try," and for a moment Fred wondered what Hermione would suggest. They couldn't give out galleons like they were revamping the DA. If it feel in the wrong hands, it'd be a disaster, setting people up for traps.

Muggles had felephones to get a hold of one another. They had the odd rectangle with moving pictures in it—he had seen that when they blew up the Dursley's living rooms. They had— _they had radios_.

Something seemed to come alive in Fred all at once and he hit George's arm before he realized he had done so. "George—the radio—"

"It's not on Fred, you need to embrace music though, I think it'd help our creativity."

"No you dolt—the Radio. The one Lee's uncle left him. That's sitting upstairs. What did they use it for?"

The thought came to his brother like a sunrise, light starting slowing before bringing him up to speed "To communicate with the continent during Grindlewald!"

"Let's keep the plan for the Prophet, We can keep that going for now," Fred lept up and pushed his chair away, "But let's start looking at getting that radio up and working again, shall we?"

* * *

((*))

* * *

AN: Seriously, I hope I don't make you guys wait so long for the next update.

Wanted to address a few things in this chapter, particularly with Hermione: She defiantly has some scares that she's carrying from the last war. The line where she says " _Those scares aren't healed and they'll do more damage than they will good"_ have actually been something I've been thinking of for a while. Feel like a jerk for having Dumbledore have said for the greater good-that was meant to be Hermione's tipping point. Kind of feel like I've been giving her a good share of those. ((Don't worry, there is a point to all of this, I promise...))

And the seeds of Potterwatch are coming! Take that!

I can't begin to express how kind y'all have been. I really appreciate your support! This story would have long ago died if it wasn't for readers like you (I feel like a PBS ad...)

Till next time,

Kait Hobbit


	25. Falling Routines

Chapter Twenty-Five

Falling Routines

* * *

Despite the storm that was still raging within her over the next week, no one else seemed to notice or comment on it. The morning that Harry and Ron where released from the hospital was as routine as ever. Potter and Weasley, evading death and maiming yet again, rejoining the living after a stay at the Pomfrey Medical Resort.

She was trying to focus on the good. She'd come up with a list. She hadn't yelled at Dumbledore or said anything she thoroughly regretted. She hadn't tried to obliterate her own memories. She had received a letter from Fred. Her boys we're getting released. She'd have her friends back again.

And the universe seemed to be trying to balance out the scales of justice— Lavender, by an act of God or perhaps biology, had picked up a nasty cold while in the Hospital Wing visiting Ron and had slept through his discharge as a side effect of the potion Madam Pomfrey had given her. As a result, Hermione was enjoying a rare, perfect moment when it was just Harry, Herself, and Ron. And better yet, they were all joking again.

"Hang on—let me get this straight—" Ron started as the rounded a corner on the seventh-floor. He didn't get to finish as a young girl jumped and shrieked, dropping her heavy brass scales, the two boys fixed at their spots as they clattered along the floor.

Hermione looked at the scales and then at the girl. She knew who this was. She knew exactly who this was. The face was different but the bewildered eyes were the same. She knew what she had to do.

"It's alright!" she said, trying to keep her walk brisk and her words kind as she moved forward to help her "Here—" she tapped the broken scales with her wand and muttered " _Reparo."_

Goyle didn't mutter a thank you, but Hermione didn't expect him to. Not this time. After all, he hadn't before.

She didn't agree with Dumbledore on a great many things related to her sojourns in time. But her study of fixed points had left her with the understanding that everything surrounding Draco and the transition of the Elder Wand to him, and later Harry, had to stay the same. That was a line that couldn't be crossed or altered. The fate of the war rested on it alone. If anything, she _had_ to ensure that stayed the same.

Trying to figure out what _could_ be altered, that was what was difficult. Could she try and take the Prince's book now that Ron's life had been spared? Would that spare Malfoy from getting cut to ribbons with Sectumsempra?

 _Then Harry could get to play one last Quidditch game—what's the worst that can happen from Harry playing in the game? He was the captain after deserved that—One last act of being a teenage boy._

"I swear they're getting smaller," Ron said as they walked away, calling her out of her thoughts. She wasn't supposed to be thinking of fixed points or time. Just the present. Which, as always with Ron, meant food. Even from the seventh floor they were being beckoned by bacon.

"Never mind the girl," said Harry, a little impatiently Hermione might claim, "What did Ginny and Dean argue about Hermione?"

"Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you," she said. She tried to keep her voice even at this point as well. Maybe it was her hidden relationship with Fred, but she liked seeing Harry and Ginny's story rolling out a second time. He didn't know it, but what he talked about her he had this slight, yet ever present smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. She had noticed it back in the summer when the four of them played Quidditch.

And it was only a matter of time before the Quidditch Finals. It was only two games away and there'd be no stopping that love story.

Ron started chuckling, "I would've liked to see that myself. It must have looked funny."

"Right, It must be hilarious watching your best mate falling from the sky. You know, I never get tired of it," she began, only to roll her eyes and slap Ron's arm, "He's lucky that Coote and Peaks caught him. Dumbledore wasn't in the stands and I doubt any of the Professors were expecting that."

"Still no need for Ginny to get worked up about it," Harry said, trying to play it down. "She didn't break up with the tosser over it did she? They're still together?"

Even Ron turned his head up, looking from Harry and then Hermione. It was as though Ron wanted to know for curiosity's sake, while Harry's expressionless said more. Ron was giving Hermione that hopeful look that she would explain later and fill him in on the gaps, just like they were in class. _Come on Hermione, Tell me what Harry's so keen on knowing what Ginny and Dean are up to, oh and can you help me on that History of Magic essay?_

Yes, she may be friendly with Ron, but not friendly enough to divulge his best friend's crush on his sister.

"Yes, they are. Why are you so—"

" _Ron!"_ a voice shrilled from the next stair landing. The miracle of biology had failed, or God had decided Hermione's respite needed to come to an end. It was _her._

There, in her red nose glory, Weird Sister's sweatshirt and bed head knot, was Lavender Brown. Her arms swinging open as she ran towards a bemused Ron.

"Hermione want to take the short cut?" Harry asked, taking her hand before she could root herself even more to the spot, "Come on—lets go—"

He led her down the corridor and a flight of stairs. They were long out of earshot when she finally found her words. "I was alright you know," she said firmly, giving Harry a particularly dirty look. "You don't need to worry about being a buffer. I wasn't going to do anything I —"

"Hermione," Harry seemed to sigh out of annoyance, "I was in the Hospital Wing when he said her name. I don't know whose face was more hurt, yours ," He paused for a minute next to a suit of armor, "or Fred's."

She seemed to involuntarily flinch. This wasn't a bad thing. And if anything, Harry had been hinting at things through the year—but this—she had been expecting him to coach her on interactions with the happy couple. Not confronting her about the Weasley Brothers.

"Harry—"

"No listen," he interrupted, "I know we've talked about this before, and—"

"Harry we really don't need to be having this conversation—" she insisted only to have him interject again.

"No we do, because, Hermione—let's face it Ron's an idiot," Harry said firmly. "He's my best mate but I'll be the first to say—He's an idiot. And you shouldn't wait for an idiot. Because you'll be waiting forever—"

"Harry, really don't—"

"And I can't promise that Fred _will_ wait forever" he quipped, his hands now pressing down firmly on her shoulders, his emerald eyes flashing in the morning sun streaming from the window. "If Fred cares for you as much as his face looked like he did in the hospital, than—"

She grabbed one of his hands on her shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze she said "Harry, stop. We're together. You can stop."

Harry looked as though he had been hit with a bludger all over again. "What?"

"Fred and I—" she could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. She shrugged, "We're together."

Harry broke into a goofy, almost uncharacteristic smile. She hadn't seen a smile like this since she had Fallen Through Time. He only smiled like that in the Post War.

"Since when?" he asked.

"Since the hospital," she caught herself shrugging again, "He—er, he didn't go to the kitchens. He left and found me. And we—"

"Yes—"Harry dragged out the word, looking inquisitively at her.

"Well that's neither here nor there," she started, her cheeks on fire. "We had a conversation, cleared up some misunderstandings and—"

"And—"

She shoved his shoulder and broke into a smile. "Oh shut up. That's it. Fred and I are together."

He shook his head pacing back and forth "You _and_ Fred, eh?" he looked at her again, "And you're sure he's not the rebound brother?"

"No, he's the one that I want," she said, the words slipping out before she could really think of them. "He has been, for a while now."

She could feel her heart racing, but it was a good kind of racing. She was excited. She couldn't help but find herself getting happy watching Harry's expression. They hadn't had much to be giddy about before. But here they were, walking down the stairs to breakfast like two regular teenagers. She had spent so many of these years telling herself she wasn't a teenager, but a solider. But she wasn't. Not right now.

Right now, she was Hermione Granger, in love with one Fred Weasley. And telling her friend Harry all about it.

"And none of the Weasley's know?" Harry ask skeptically.

"We missed the Christmas card," she joked. Maybe it wouldn't be bad telling the family. Maybe it would echo what she was feeling now. She could bubble this giddy feeling. It would feel like rays of sunshine when on the hunt. "I'm sure George knows by now. Fred can't keep something like this from him. We thought it best not to tell Ron when he was still in the hospital although in hindsight—"

"We could've had him sedated," Harry jabbed. " So let's make a deal, I will guard your secret and talk Ron down when the family finds out . And in return—"

"I don't launch a full Spanish Inquisition when you ask about Ginny and Dean?"

"Exactly," He paused for a moment, as though he was weighing her words. "What are the chances you and Fred could help speed that along…"

She rolled her eyes, _You and Fred_ , no one had refereed to them a couple yet. But she liked it. How one little conjunction could be so gratifying. "Probably not. But I'll put a word in with George."

They kept talking as they went down the stairs. He called her out when she seemed to have a bounce in her step. She often telling him to be quite as he started talking about Her and Fred with other students in ear distance.

Ron and Lavender had already gone into the Great Hall and Hermione was thinking that given her last half hour with Harry, she should be able to deal with the them. Maybe just for a little bit. But she wasn't running to it quite yet. She slowed her steps, "Any luck on Slughorn's Memory?"

"No, I need to visit Dumbledore after breakfast—" Harry sighed, scratching the back of his head, "He's not going to take this well."

"Well, maybe if you weren't stalking Malfoy and reading in the Prince's book every chance you got—"

"Hey, we've been having a good conversation, no need to put a damper on it," he tried, pushing her words aside "Just—Just go with it. Malfoy missing the game—why would he—"

 _And he's back to being Harry—_ she thought to herself, "Harry, Someday a Gryffindor Quidditch Captain will come around who won't believe the world revolves around Quidditch."

"Fat Chance," he laughed, this time the smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Remember, this is Malfoy, who had his dad buy Slytherin Nimbus 2001's. Who had Fred, George and I kicked off the team last year-"

"I just find it hard to believe that Malfoy falling out of love with Quidditch correlates with him becoming a Death Eater," Hermione said, but she was reciting the script she would have said last time. Looking at it now, she couldn't help but want to kick herself. How did she and Ron push this to side? Harry's logic may have been flawed in someways, but on this case he was spot on.

"Listen, Harry-Dumbeldore wouldn't be asking you to do this if he didn't believe you could do it," she muttered, "He wouldn't ask you if he didn't think it was important." She trying to match her step with his. She had spewed sentimental statements like this before. Spewing hope and faith in whatever plan he had put together. As sure as Harry believed in Quidditch, they both believed in Dumbledore.

At least she had.

 _No you still do,_ a little voice said in her head. You want to.

"I'll think of something I'm sure—" Harry said, less confident now than he had been minutes ago. "Just a few things I need to take care of first."

"Just promise me you'll stop spending the entire day stalking the Room of Requirement trying to find what Malfoy's up to," she started, linking her arm in his.

"You sure you quit Divination?"

"Oh, I gave up on Divination. What I'm not giving up on is you," Hermione answered, as the two of them walked into the Great Hall. "Come on, let's give it a go."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Three Weeks later, George wasn't sure how brilliant Fred's radio idea was.

The brothers had began trying to work on the radio about five minutes after he idea was formed. The thrill of the theory came to a crashing reality as they lifted the sheet and pried open the back of the radio case. When it became apparent that the radio wouldn't be the quick fix—a puff of smoke fizzing out of the box after their first tinkering—they gave each other a look that said it all.

 _Back to the plan—_

They'd escalate the code plan. That was logic, not mechanics. That's what Fred was doing right now. He'd even taken to going through their limited library to see if they could come up with a codex. He was trying to come up with something. Anything. Fred was always good at coming up with secrecy—George knew he had worked on something for Hermione over the summer, a diary or something of the sort—but George also knew why he was doing approaching it with such ferocity. Coming up with a list meant he could have a chance of seeing Hermione.

In a way he would have welcomed that. His Brother had been working on the war effort as though he was running out of time. Even during the shop hours he would be in the back. At first, George thought he was Brainstorming, but it wasn't long before he found him pouring through books and trying to figure out how to do a magical cipher. _Maybe if Hermione was here, she would be able to make him happy again-_ not that he was unhappy. He just wasn't happy go lucky. At this point, he'd give anything to have his twin slopping scone batter in the kitchen after a good snog.

But there wasn't time for that. Not when he was trying to make up codes.

They had gone over the codes last night. Grimmauld for one. Fawkes was another. They had to steer clear of some of the common words—Dumbledore, Black, Snuffles, Moody, Padfoot—because that had a shared history with Pettigrew. That's where the codex was coming in handy. It would just take teaching people making sure the told enough but not too many—

George was finding himself slightly annoyed they didn't have years of Prefect Experience coming up with passwords—it might make this easy. _As if you could have survived being a Prefect. Living with Percy would've been intolerable…_

Percy would've been decent with this, George thought. George and Fred were good at inventing things, brain storming—making a show. Percy, whether he realized it or not, took after their dad where he was good at taking things apart and putting them together again. Both logically and, when necessity demanded it, mechanics as well. When the rest of them would play Quidditch as children, it was Percy who would make a crash landing somewhere and scurry across the orchard to Mr. Weasley's shed to see what their dad had brought back.

If he hadn't become a pompous, sniveling, Ministry lackey, George thought Percy would've found his ninch in the shop. Maybe not right away—Percy had always been a bit of an academic, an analytic in ways the twins hadn't, but sometimes when he was putting the Ministry Defense Order together, George wondered what it would have been like if Percy hadn't chosen Fudge. If he hadn't had the row with their dad. If he hadn't broken their mum's heart.

 _Can't put everything back together, eh Percy?_

He wondered if his brother would come back, if they'd ever sort it out and be a family again. But that wasn't a matter of survival. Figuring out the radio was

He opened the book they had picked up at the Muggle Bookstore near The Leaky Cauldron. It was a manual for an Airline Model Radio manufactured in the 1950s—this Radio was from the late 30s at best. For once he understood why his father fancied Muggle technology. What they had been able to put together in 20 years was remarkable as the model and the book were as different as George and Percy.

 _The Hell with it. You're just going to have your dad look at it—_ he told himself as he tapped his wand against a grommet, a spark shooting out electricity before fizzling out.

He heard the shuffle of feet on the stairs. Taking the white sheet, he tossed it over the radio, just as their established protocol had been just before Fred and Lupin entered into the flat.

"Hello Remus," George said, stretching out, "Haven't seen you in a while."

"I leave you guys alone for a month and your brother tells me you're coming up with two different means of sharing communication with the wizarding population," Remus smiled as Fred walked into the kitchen and pulled out three Butterbeers, "Probably should have left you guys alone sooner and you'd have ended the war by now."

"Don't give him ideas," George said, motioning to Fred.

"I heard that," his twin quipped, handing them both bottles. "I've already shown him the ad we have and some of the different codes we were able to hammer out. All we need to do is make sure we can share the initial code words with enough members of the Order so they know what to look for."

"He's been like this ever since we came up with this," George explained looking from his brother to their old Professor, "Please remind him that he works at a Joke Shop and not a Think Tank."

"Please remind my brother that we're trying to take down a Dark Wizard, not invite him over for tea and biscuits" Fred fired back.

Remus smiled while flipping through the small book Fred had been working in. "This is good, This is really good Fred."

"Next he's going to ask to when he can run to Dumbledore," George said casually, waving his hand in the air.

"I was going to ask him if he thought we should start marketing a side shop to Muggles. _Prewetts Pranks, We're so good our pranks are like magic!"_ He said the last bit waving his hand like George just had, as though placing the words on the banner, "Water downed magic, low enough it would sneak through the Ministry, not cause any alarms to go off-If we could find a way to make them carry protective spells think how many people we could save-"

"While I think that has merit," Remus interrupted, " I think George is right. We can take this to Dumbledore."

"Smashing,"Fred said, clapping his hands, "I'll just floo to Hogsmead and—"

"Easy there" Remus started again, "I'll take it to Dumbledore. I have business in the castle."

George watched as Fred's face fell. It was as though he had just got hit by a bludger at first shocked and then the pain coursing through him. "But—but it was our idea—"

"And a good one," Remus agreed, "Don't worry I'll make sure you get the credit. But it's going to look odd if you keep showing up at Hogwarts."

"They're doing their apparation tests," Fred started. George could see he was grasping for straws, for anything that would let him come to the school. To get to her. "I could be the older brother being supportive as Ron takes his test—"

"No," George said, setting down his butterbeer. "Remus is right. We can't keep going to the school at any excuse. People know our family's aligned to Dumbledore—we can't fight that. But if we keep popping up unexpectedly, even at things like Apparation Tests—" George looked from Remus to his brother, "They're going to think we're more involved with the Order than we're letting on. We need to be able to involved but not omnipresent. You know that Freddie, its easier to get into doors that aren't being guarded."

Remus closed he book, "Your brother's right. You're going to want a low profile. Especially if you're about to launch an underground resistance radio channel."

George watched as Fred's face went a little more rigid. His eyes darting and his hands tightening on the back of the chair. "Right. You're right." He cleared his throat and took a swig from his bottle. "Here Remus, Let me go down stairs and I'll make you a duplicate copy for you. Add in a few notes for Dumbledore."

Fred disappeared down the stairs book in hand. George turned to Remus, "The war's getting to Fred. Don't get me wrong—I agree we need to do something, but these codes, the radio—" he shook his head, "I haven't seen him brainstorm a new product since we've started this."

"I know, James was like this, last time" Remus trailed off. George wondered sometimes if Remus had continued coming to them because, in some twisted way the two Weasley brothers reminded him of James and Sirius. Hagrid had made the comparison when they were at school. Now that George was older, he could see it himself. " I'd like to say he'll be back to normal soon but in full honesty It'll take till the war ending," Remus said gloomily.

"Figured as much," George sighed, taking a drink of his butterbeer. When he was younger, butterbeer always seemed to clear his head, make things seem right. It was in that moment of clarity another thought came to George's mind."I've got another question for you though Remus, do you honestly believe Fred's downstairs gift wrapping his brain child for you to take to Dumbledore?"

* * *

AN: This was turning into a modo long chapter, so I'm splitting it. Bright side: Shouldn't have to wait that long for the update, downside...well its a 4K chapter.

Thank you for all the love this story is getting. You all have been rays of sunshine when I need it, and I appreciate it.

Fell like this is a kind of filler, but a necessary one. At least on Hermione's end. Poor dear has been battling a lot in the last few chapters, she needed to have some sunlight. I've been learning that lately too.

Anywho, next chapter Hermione's Apparation's test has a familiar end with a new surprise, both good and bad. Also, we're going to see a slight change in the time line and see how that effects course of things.

Until next time,

KH


	26. Falling Brilliance

AN: I can honestly say this wasn't the chapter I sat down to write, but it wouldn't leave me alone. A bit of a filler, but in honor of Fred and George's Birthday weekend (as well as due to a very hectic schedule this month that will limit writing...) here's chapter 26!

* * *

Chapter 26

Falling Brilliance

* * *

The Morning of their Apparition Test, Hermione bid farewell to Harry, telling him to work on recovering the secret memory from Slughorn. As she had every day that week, she had firmly instructed him to stop stalking Malfoy which he said he would—and she said _she knew_ that was a load of codswallop.

Walking out of the Great Hall to the waiting carriages she burrowed in her jacket as the wind pulled at the ends of her hair In front of her she could see some of the others a head of her—including Ron and Lavender who where holding hands as they made their way to a carriage, their arms swinging in the morning breeze.

"Makes me want to hurl," a voice muttered to her side, " I don't know how you are still holding it in." Paravati had joined her at her side. Her hair was blowing into the wind, sending her braid back and forth like a snake.

"Those two?" Hermione asked surprised, motioning her head to Ron and Lavender. This year had been the most she had spoken with Paravati. After all, she and Lavender had always been the best friends. Hermione was part of a trio, but it was never a trio where she was teamed up with her roommates. She was usually the odd man out. She had always felt that way. From the first night when she was sorted into Gryffindor, Lavender and Paravti were joined at the hip.

But this past year, especially with Hermione not caring or posing a threat to Lavender's new interest in Ron, the dynamics of the 6th year Gryffindor girls had been different. Lavender had thrown herself completely into her relationship with Ron. Hermione had been busy grappling with her time travel—and she supposed Fred. But for Paravati had suddenly found herself alone for the first time since being separated from Padme at the sorting ceremony.

Everything had been so different before. _Before_ Lavender and Paravati were able to laugh at Hermione's expense. _Before_ they shared whispers when Ron walked down the hallway and cast a glance. _Before_ Paravati used to shoot a dirty look whenever Hermione was in the same room, talking with Ron. _Before_ they had been a duo united in their goal of Lavender and Ron, and their distrust of Hermione.

But now—

Paravati shook her head and looked from her friend to Hermione. "Don't get me wrong, she's fancied him since the D.A last spring, I was thrilled when they got together. I just thought they'd be done by now."

"Ray of sunshine you are," Hermione chuckled darkly, "They're an odd pair, I'll give you that."

"You know, she thought about breaking up with him at Christmas, wanted to see if he'd fight to keep them together," Paravati's words seemed to rush together and Hermione wondered if this is what Paravati and Lavender's conversations where like Fast, Rapid, but hushed, "I think she wanted to see if that would raddle your cage. You know Lavender," Paravati explained as they got in their own carriage, "Always wanting a reaction."

"It's amazing she doesn't have more friends," Hermione said, taking a sharp breath, looking out the window. _Determination—Deliberation—Destination—_

She could certainly deal with Paravati trying _less_ to be friendly.

* * *

((*))

* * *

The Ministry had set up an apparition station in the main road of Hogsmede.

There were about twenty or so sixth years that were of age that had poured into the town. Just like last time, there were at least a dozen professors standing on the perimeters, intermingled with Ministry Officials. A few of them where outside, Hermione figured there were more inside The Three Broomsticks, hoping to stay in the warm a little bit longer.

It was identical to last time, down to the little Ministry Official that had taught them the Three D's. He was wearing a floppy hat, similar to the silly Sherlock Holmes hats they sold off Baker Street. He was at the head table talking with Professor Flitwick, the professor tapping his watch as though he was trying to get the test to begin so they could all return to the Pub and get out of the chilly air.

As though they had seen the Professor's watch, six Ministry Officials came out of the Three Broomsticks. A few holding a cup of Butterbeer. This was different. Before they had been Officials from the Department of Magical Transportation. There were two she recognized, but the other four where from Scrimgeour's office. _Percy—_

Percy was standing there.

Horned rimmed glasses. His hair gelled back, curls frozen at his neck. She hadn't seen Percy since she fell back in time and here he was. File folders in hand. He had moved high enough he now had someone lagging behind him, someone he probably called the wrong name because he felt like he had earned it. He was surveying the crowd and his face froze when he saw Ron.

In the Post War, Percy had come around. He had come around before the battle started—something Molly Weasley clung to, the knowledge that her family was a family again when Fred died. She took comfort knowing the brothers had made peace before Fred's passing. That they were brothers, fighting together, when the wall came down. That Fred wasn't alone when he died. It was the only bright side she had coming out of Fred's death.

Percy had gone into detail telling how he'd come around to their side again. That it was when he saw Mad-Eye's blue, all seeing eye plastered to Umbridge's door, constantly watching for betrayal. How he had made contact with Tonks before she had gone on the underground, and how she would sneak him information—Quibbler articles transformed into Ministry reports. His last name still separated him from the closet circles of the new elite, but he was able to gather information on his own. Collecting names of who was acting on their own accord and who he thought could be under the Imperious Curse.

He had taken those names with him when he had to disappear into hiding himself. He had overheard in the hallway Thickenese talking with Umbrdige about the upstart students who were challenging Snape, he had heard Ginny's name. Not long after that, Percy decided it was time to disappear and wait till it was time. He had reached out to Oliver Wood—they had been roommates all those years, he knew that _he_ would be in touch with his Brothers. And if the twins told Oliver it was time, Oliver would let Percy know. He owed it to him after all the assignments he had helped him with over the years.

The post war Percy had spent the year repentant, trying to come around. Trying to make things right for his family. Especially with his younger surviving brothers. Bill and Charlie had in a way thought they should share the blame of what happened to Percy. Too much pressure, not enough support-but George and Ron—he had failed on being the older brother he thought they deserved.

George pushed this back. He didn't want to argue. He just wanted Fred back.

Ron was less than forgiving. It probably took Fred's death to lessen the tension between the two.

Post War Percy had been pennant—had tried to do everything he could to make things right. He had tried to live his life in a way his brothers—his family—would be proud of.

This Percy, standing in the chilly morning air with his hair a frozen plaster of curls—he was looking at Ron as though he had seen him for the first time and Ron was doing all he could to not use the three D's to rearrange his Brother's face.

She made her way through the crowd to Ron's side, her hand slipping in his own, "Don't—" was all she said, squeezing his hand once. This is what she had done before to stop him from flying off the handle—she fell into the old habit when she saw Ron's jaw lock. It was always his tell.

She tried to let go of her hand but looked down when he saw his hand still gripping hers. As though the muscles could remember a memory that he never had. As though he needed her.

"Thanks—" He looked down on their enclosed hands and let go once Percy looked away. "Thanks Hermione."

"Won-Won!" A voice called behind her shoulder and she took that as her cue to walk towards the front of the line.

She thought she heard him say her name, and she casually turned her head over her shoulder and looked back to see Lavender, her sweet disposition now surly while Ron looked at her as though he had been clubbed with a beater's bat.

 _No—not now—he couldn't possibly—_

"Attention!" the official squeaked, "Attention! We are going to begin with this morning's apparition tests. Please line up by houses."

"After you," Dean said, stepping back so she stood in the front of the Gryffindor line. "Er—what's those three D's again?"

"Determination—Deliberation—Destination—something like that," Hermione said. She looked over to her right to see the other three in the front of her line. Padme had been nudged to the front of the Ravenclaw line while Hannah Abbot had taken Susan's spot in the Hufflepuff while Pansy Parkinson whispered with Zabini.

"Ah, Ladies first, very good," the Ministry man squeaked. "Come along girls, come along." And the four of them disappeared from the street.

((*))

She had made it on her first attempt. Arriving in the little gold hoop at the bench near Madam Puddifoots. "A natural," the ministry official had said, "Simply a natural. I've never seen a Muggleborn so adept," he bubbled, sharing this with his coworker and then turning his attention to Hermione. His mustache twitching from side to side as he asked, "Are you sure your not a half blood? This is unprecedented."

"I'm taking it I passed then?" Hermione asked with a confident smile, trying to turn the attention away from quires over her blood status.

"With flying colors!" the Ministry Man said, his floppy Sherlock Hat flapping as he enthusiastically bobbed his head and made a note on his forms.

"I wouldn't expect less from Hermione Granger," a familiar voice said from behind. She knew who it was the instant he spoke. Percy had found her.

She hadn't noticed how formal he had looked this morning. His robes were new, but not as sleek as he would've liked. She could tell, he had a charm on the fabric which would make them—from a distance—appear to be of higher quality. She could tell the way the robes were cut he had probably skipped Madam Malkins and gone to Twillfitt and Tattings—or perhaps an imitation of that.

He wanted to command authority. Presence.

At least that's what she was picking up as he stood in her way.

"Thank you Percy," she said, trying to duck to the side and get around him, but he wouldn't have it.

"Did I see you and my younger brother are together now?" Percy inquired, following her at her heals. Her heart jumped. _How the bloody hell—_

"What do—"

"I saw you and Ronald holding hands," Percy said. He looked rather uncomfortable, as though he regretted having brought up the subject, but all the same looked pleased. As though he was proud he had been correct in his assumption. " I didn't see you at the Burrow when I stopped by for Christmas. Congratulations on the recent development."

"Oh—" a wave of relief came over her. "No, we're not together," she smiled, "Just a good luck thing, that's all—he was nervous."

Percy seemed to give an equally nervous chuckle. Confidence crashing to embarrassment having established in the most awkward of circumstances Hermione was not with Ron, she simply wished him well and thought that would be the end of it but Percy turned and followed.

"Actually Hermione, I hoped to have a word,"Percy said again, his pace matching hers. "I heard from Jarvis over there that you were a gifted apparitor—He's a favorite in the office you see and I—" he looked even more awkward and uncomfortable, more so than when he had been asking about her and Ron.

"Hermione. You know that with what's going on, The Ministry is going to need brought young minds. You've always been an academic—brilliant—I've admired your studious habits over the years. And the fact your well on your way to becoming a Head Girl—"

 _For the love of all things Holy—Percy if you're confessing emotions-_

"Many a slip between cup and lip—" Hermione said, trying to quicken her pace down the straight away back into town.

"What I'm saying is, when you finish Hogwarts, they're going to try and recruit you for the Ministry and I want to help mentor you to be an Under Secretary," he said it so quickly his words seemed to stream together. He had dismissed embarrassment and was puffing his chest as though he was wearing his Head Boy Badge again. _He thinks he's doing you a service—_

She tried to give a polite smile but she felt anything but polite, "I'm alright but thank you."

His chest deflated, "Hermione—at least think about it. Harry wants to be an Auror, Scrimgeour is going to help him. You and I both know he wouldn't be where he is if it wasn't for your hard work. Just," he chased after her, giving her a small card with his name and latest title, "Just think about it."

"Right, thanks" she said, taking the card and throwing it into the little bag Fred had given her at the start of term. It would stay there till she cleaned it out at the end of the war, when he had a new title and the card would only be good for scribbling a note over.

In her time, When the war had ended and the bodies had been buried, Percy had made a similar offer. To help her find her spot in the Ministry but he had quickly followed his offer with "When your finished at Hogwarts, of course." Percy had figured it out before Harry and Ron—that Hermione wouldn't leave her education incomplete. That no matter what promises, what offers she received from others, she wouldn't look at them until she had finished what she had started her first year.

 _But that was then. This didn't happen before._ Before Percy hadn't been here at all. Before she had met up at the Three Broomsticks with the others, she and Ron had talked until Lavender finished the test. She hadn't spoken with Percy. Percy hadn't been there. _Why was Percy here? What did that mean—_

She could see another Red head not far ahead of her. Someone else hadn't been there either.

Someone else that was smiling, waiting for her. With a cocky, but confident smile she loved.

 _Fred._

He was now coming towards her, his stride quickened, matching her own. He reached out for her and she found herself in his embrace, his arms welcoming her to the only peace she seemed to ever find.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, reveling in the warmth of his hug. She hadn't realized how cold she was until just then. She broke away from him for a minute and looked up, her voice tightening, "Is George alright? The Shop?"

"They're both alright," Fred laughed, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, "An owl came in and told me you had an Apparition test. So Naturally I had to come and make sure you completed it in one piece."

She raised an eye brow, "You came to make sure I didn't get splinched?"

"While that would have given me more Hermione Granger to love,"he started, "If anyone's putting you back together again, it's me."

She laughed, tilting her head and rolling her eyes, "Seriously though, why are you here Fred?"

He looked in the distance, and then around behind him, as though he was waiting for someone to pop out of no where and kill them both. "I need to share something with Dumbledore—something George and I have been working on—"

 _Had they done this? And you never knew?_ The twins had been very subtly involved in the resistance—it wasn't surprising that they'd be working on something and she hadn't known about it—"What do you mean?"

Fred's face still looked hesitant, as though he was waiting for someone to come crashing in and interrupting them. "Where's a good place to talk? Where we won't be over heard?"

"Fred, I—" she was a little unsure. She was Hermione Granger the time traveler, but she was also Hermione Granger the Prefect. A Student. "Fred, I finished my test, I'm supposed to report back to the Three Broomsticks till the rest are done. If I wander off McGonagall will have a fit—"

"Don't worry about Minnie, I'll have Dumbledore fill her in when I finish talking with him," Fred waved off, "Come on, I grabbed some butterbeers from the flat before I left, lets go to the Shrieking Shack, I'll fill you in on everything."

She looked at her watch, "We only have an hour till McGonagall will send the goon squad looking for me," Hermione said, putting her hand in his. "One hour Fred."

"Getting Hermione Granger to wander off," he said with a smile, "I'm starting to think I'm a bad influence on you."

Hermione couldn't help but smile, "The very worst Fred."

((*))

He took off his jacket and laid it on a stone bench on the outskirts of the yard. Tapping his wand twice it expanded and turned into a blanket, the bright neon blue and zippers the only signs of its former use.

"Rather muggle of you," Hermione said, motioning to it with her bottle of Butterbeer. "What happened to the dragon hide?"

"Doesn't transfigure as well," Fred explained, cracking open his own bottle. "Besides, Lee's taken to Muggle Second Hand Stores and keeps giving George and I his finds. The two of them like wandering off to Muggle London every now and again."

"And you don't?" she asked, sitting down on the bench, "I thought you three did everything together."

"Usually Muggle London means muggle pubs and muggle girls—which isn't a bad thing—I just—"

"Yes—" Hermione asked, this time tilting her head with a smile.

"There's only one girl I'd like to see London with and she's not there" Fred said before exasperatingly turning to her with his lips puckered.

"That was the sappiest thing you've ever said," Hermione laughed, her hand shoving his lips away, "You and I both know that was pathetic and you can do better."

He loved her laugh. He loved making her laugh. He loved her being a joking Hermione.

He loved her.

And he felt it right then, sitting on a bench with two Butterbeers between them as the Shrieking Shack stood watch.

"You're right," Fred said coolly, "But pathetic or not, I'll never stop trying to make you laugh."

She leaned her head against his shoulder, wrapping her arm and hand around his, "Pathetic or not," she said softly, "I think you always will."

She squeezed his hand, "So, why have you taken me on the run evading McGonagall?"

"Right," Fred started, as he pulled out a book that looked like the ledgers he and George kept at the store, "I wanted to show you this."

He watched as her face pulled together,"If you've brought me out here to read me a story—"

"No—it's not that," he chuckled, "I stole this idea from you; It's a secret book of my own. Not even George knows about it," he explained, wondering if she knew just how rare that was—for someone to know something he hadn't confided with George. "I've been keeping my ideas about the resistance in here. Brain storms for the radio—"

"Radio, Resistance," Hermione started a the book in his hands and then looked at him again, "Fred what are you doing?"

"Being an owl—or whatever you'd call it—it's made me realize just how limited we are in means of communication. We've seen under Fudge what a controlled press could do—" he continued on, " If the Death Eaters ever got a hold of the Daily Prophet who knows what people would believe. And if they were to get control over the mail—owls being intercepted—"

"People wouldn't be able to share news except face to face—"Hermione said, her eyes heavy—as though she knew all to well the dilemma he was trying to prevent.

"Which is pretty damming when your on the run or hiding," Fred finished, squeezing her hand"You're getting it. So George and I have been trying to come up with ways to share news from the order to its members—rather than calling a conclave. We left some coded messages at a pub about a potential werewolf attack and someone people took the hit and made preparations. If we could do that on a larger scale—"

"You'd be saving lives," Hermione said, her voice carry a soft tinge of hope "Where does this radio fit in?"

"Lee's Great Uncle gave him his old radio set, they used it to communicate with the resistance with Grindelwald way back in the day," he wavered, turning the page of the book where a diagram of radio had been crudely illustrated. "We're going to try and fix it and see if there are any resistance chancels on the Archangel Network."

"To listen or to perform?"

He hadn't thought of performing—not until then. _You could do that—if there's no one else in the Order working on it—the Order would have the best source of News—_

"You'd have to be careful, set up a password—if the enemy was able to listen to the broadcast they'd be able to zoom in on your location." She started raddling off, taking a quill from her bag and jotting her ideas down in his book. "You'd also want to use code names—that way you could still keep the shop running—and it wouldn't be a bad idea to use different safe houses to broadcast. Just to throw them off—"

He looked at her, her mind always moving a head of the game. "Did running the DA make you paranoid or constantly prepared for rebellions?"

"I prefer consistently vigilant," she laughed, leaning into his shoulder, she looked at the book. "But there's the problem," he said. "We cant get it to run. Do you know anything about radios? I don't want to get dad involved if I can."

"I don't, but there used to be a store in Chelsea—it might still be there—my dad took my grandad's radio to be fixed there—they might be able to look at it. Get it in working muggle order and then strengthen the magical enhancements."

"Chelsea. Got it," he said, looking at her tight, slanted handwriting as she scribbled down the address in the corner of his book. " Is this what you wanted to show me?"

He turned to the page, he had been working on. The code words scribbled in the margin. The advertisement, different phrasing, several crossed out in frustration.

"Its like the flyers at the Pub, but a little more clandestine—and more wide spread. We'd put an add in the Prophet, or the Quibbler—looking for a skilled wizard to tutor an ill child—"

She knitted her eyebrows together, "A werewolf child?"

"Ill is how its usually advertised," Fred nodded, "We'd then have Inquires to Mr. So and So, whatever code word we can come up with, a bogus address in the city that's at risk by the date of the attack. Members of the order that live in the area can then do a neighborhood watch—warn people—"

"It's a bit of a stretch, but it's really brilliant," Hermione muttered, her eyes looking over his book, and then turning to him. "You'd just have to make sure that people knew what they were looking for—and then there's the matter of coming up with different phrasing so the Death Eaters or Greyback didn't catch on –and you have to be careful. You can't have this trace back to you in any way—"

"What are you thinking?" He asked, cutting her off. His hand reached for hers again. "Calm that brain of yours for a minute. I wanted to know what Hermione Granger thought of it before I presented it to Dumbledore."

There was a momentary pause before she answered. "I think you're brilliant," Hermione said, turning her head up to him. "What about you? What are you thinking?"

"That we can do this," he said confidently, "I'm not going to say it'll be easy by any stretch of the imagination—but between the two of us, I think we can create the resistance people are going to need."

He'd be lying if he wasn't concerned by her facial expression. It was one that was proud, but also had an edge of dread. As though she knew. _She always has that look—_

"We can do this," she repeated, her hand squeezing his in turn, "We will do this."

"That's the spirit Granger," he said with a smile. "I'll have to send Umbridge flowers for all the preparation she provided us."

"If you send her flowers before me, so help me Fred Weasley, you'll never hear the end of it," Hermione laughed, her look of foreboding disappearing. In stead, she rested her head on his arm. " Speaking of unpleasantness, I ran into your brother before I ran into you—"

"Ron? He's already finished his test?"

"No—Percy," Fred's body tensed as Hermione carried on, "Ron saw him and nearly decked him. I held his hand and it may have made it look like we were dating to Percy."

"Percy thinks you and Ron are a couple?" Fred laughed, giving into the humor of the situation,. "Probably a good thing you didn't correct him. Percy would have hulled you off to St Mungos for tests and had an auror pick me up for doing an unforgiveable on you."

She hit his shoulder and laughed, "You're right."

He looked at the Shrieking Shack. It was bleak but there was a patch of wildflowers in bloom, the paint peeling on the fence and only stains of colors remain on the actual building. The wind had stopped and the sun shone down on what was going to be a beautiful spring day.

Fred would've been content with staying there. The Two of them chatting on a bench in Hogsmede. If Katie Bell hadn't been attacked, his would've been a regular Hogsmede weekend. They would've been able to plan a real date. He'd have packed a picnic from the Leaky Cauldron. They'd have eaten it here, on this bench. Or maybe down by the Black Lake. They would have had their several sunlit days.

"I don't want to go back," He said despondently, still staring into the distance as though he could see what could've been. "Not yet."

"Me neither," she sighed, leaning on his arm. "I didn't think I was going to see you again till after term ended—and now that I have I don't know how I'll make it till June."

"Only a little while yet," he answered. "Which brings up a good point. Where are you going to stay? You're not staying in Essex by yourself."

"I have to take care of some things,"Hermione explained, "Besides, you're mum will be on my tail if I come straight to the Burrow. It's going to be hard enough explaining why my parents aren't picking me up."

"Stay at the shop. George and I have room—"

"We'll see,"Hermione smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She did that a lot too, or so he had noticed. "We'll—"

"Fred!" a voice called and he snapped his neck behind him; there stood Remus, obviously annoyed, his face flustered. "Where have you been?"

"If you had your hands on your hips you could've been my mother just now." Fred smirked, standing up from the bench. "Came into town and found Hermione. Just wanted to pick her brain over a few things we've been working on at the shop"

"Sorry Hermione, but the Headmaster is expecting us,"Fred noticed how Lupin's eyes seemed to twitch at _us._ As though he'd preferred to have said " _The Headmaster was expecting me but now it's going to be a joint debriefing because Fred Weasley can't follow orders."_

"It's ok Remus, McGonagall will be looking for me soon if I don't make it back" Hermione sighed sitting up and tapping Fred's blanket wit her wand as it folded itself back into its windbreaker form. "Don't forget your coat Fred," she said softly, touching his arm.

Remus looked at them as though he had just been struck by a bludger, and Fred knew he just put their secret together. "I'll see you in the stationhouse in five minutes Fred?"

He nodded and turned back to Hermione as Lupin walked away.

"I'll try and it make it back again before the end of term—but I wouldn't count on it," his shoulders shrugged as he put on the jacket, "In full honest I went off the radar—Lupin was supposed to share this with Dumbledore not me. If he gets his way I'll be lucky if I get to run another letter ever again."

"Especially if Remus knows—"

"Exactly," he sighed not wanting to tell her how much their former professor had probably put together in the last few minutes. "But I'll be there on the platform. And I'll take you to Essex. We can tell mum your parents couldn't get off work and had invited me to tea."

"And she'll wonder why you were invited to tea—"

"Once I kiss you on the platform for the world to see, she won't wonder why," he smiled his thumb brushing her cheek.

Her hand clasped over his, as he bent down and kissed her forehead.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"Be safe." Her eyes closed, her voice pleading. "For the love of Merlin—stay safe."

"For Merlin, not likely," he shoved away, taking her hand as they made their way back to the main path to the village. "But for Hermione Granger? Always."

((*))

When she returned to Hogwarts she and Ron shared their morning with Harry who, yet again, had failed to get Slughorn's memory.

"But I ran into Tonks— she was looking for Dumbledore but he wasn't in," Harry said, tossing ball into the air as he laid on his bed.

"Again?" Ron said looking up from his bag of Honeyduke Sweets he had bought himself as a consolation for not passing the Appiration test, "He's been away from the school more than he's been here it feels like."

Hermione's head shot up, "Hang on, I saw Lupin in the village—said he had business with Dumbledore."

Harry shrugged and looked at his friends, "All I know is what she told me. That Dumbledore was out and would be back later in the week. At least that's what the statue said."

 _If Dumbledore's gone, what did Fred do? Would he be coming back? Or would Lupin make he solo visit._

"What are you going to do about that Memory Harry?" she asked, snapping herself back, "If you keeping putting it off—"

"I haven't been putting it off," Harry said indignatly, "I jus haven't been lucky that's all."

Ron nearly choked on the sugar quill he had just started, "That's it Harry. You just need to get lucky!"

Harry looked at Ron and then Hermione, "What is he talking about?"

"The Felix Felicis!" Ron continued waving his arms as though it was an obvious connection. "All you'd need is a swig of liquid luck and Slughorn would be telling you anything you need to know."

Hermione noticed Harry's face rise and fall at the same time. "He's right Harry, it might be your best shot."

"I suppose—" Harry looked at the trunk at the foot of his bed, "I just had some plans that's all—"

"But you've been working on this since the start of term," Ron grumbled,"What plans could be more important than this?"

Harry looked at Hermione and she knew in an instant what he had planned for, _Ginny._

"If you don't get it out of him by Monday you should do it," Hermione said, killing any hope he had. "But if this memory is as important as Dumbledore thinks it is—"

"Right," Harry sighed, ending the conversation, "Quite right too." Sitting up from his bed he put on his shoes and grabbed his bag, "I'm going to the library to work on Snape's Essay I suppose. See you lot there?"

"Finished yesterday," Hermione grinned, " You go ahead though and I'll look over it when your done."

Harry disappeared from the dormitory and Hermione waited as Ron picked up his books and sugar quills to join Harry.

"That's a good idea you had, about the Liquid Luck," she told him.

"Yeah, it was," he said, a little more confidently than he normally would have. "Dunno why I didn't think of it sooner."

"Epiphany's are fickle things," Hermione smiled.

"Hermione—Back in Hogsmede—with Percy—"Ron started, stumbling over his own words.

"I hope I didn't get you in trouble with Lavender," she said simply, picking up her bag and heading down to the common room.

"No," he stopped on the steps before the final landing "Well actually yeah—but I wanted to—"

"I figured they wouldn't let you take your test if you knocked out your brother," she said simply, continuing down the stairs, laughing as she said, "Although if you'd prefer to in the future, just let me know and I wont stand in the way."

Lavender's eye were throwing daggers at her as she and Ron came down the stairs to the boy's dormitory. She darted right to him, taking his hand and through gritted teeth saying "We need to talk—" before dragging Ron out of the portrait hole.

She didn't want to think of what pray tell Lavender wanted to talk about. She took her place at the fire and that's when she saw it. Harry's potion book from when he had been working earlier in the day. _If I take it now, he might not find Sectumsempra,_ she reasoned. Picking it up and leafing through it, she felt as though she was holding the center of fixed points. Good ones, and bad ones. _But the good ones have already played out. Ron's alive, and Draco hasn't been cut to ribbons yet. If she were to take it_ —maybe there's something in her that could save them, could help save Fred.

She hated the book. It was cheating academically—but it had saved Ron's life—

But it was Snape's book. Bits of Dark Magic intermingling with the dark ink that covered the book.

If she took the book. _Let him be a kid,_ she thought and took the book, putting it in her bag. _Let him play his last quidditch game._

She tried to do some work on her essay but she was tiered and he room buzzing with chatter. If she went to bed now, she'd miss the silence and puffs of disapproval from Lavender—and that was motive enough to get to bed.

As she drifted to sleep, she tried to go through the timeline in her head. Harry would get the memory. Dumbledore would tell him more about Horcruxes. Dumbledore would die in less than two months.

 _Don't let him drink all the Felix Felicis,_ she told herself, hoping she'd remember that for the morning so she could jot it down in her book. _You'll need some, you'll all need some this time around…_

* * *

 _AN:_ Again, that was not the chapter I had initially set out to write. Feel as though its very dialogue heavy and coming it at over 6k words... lets just say We'll get back on track in Chapter 27.

As always, actually more so than always, I apologize for any spelling, syntax or awkward phrasing. I've got a few assignments for church and work this week so it's either update now or wait till mid May (figured you lot would be ok with sooner rather than later...).

Also, dear readers, we're hitting some serious milestones with this story. While we're flirting with 300 reviews, we're also looking at over 260 favourites and 500+ follows. _Thank you!_ for letting me share my story with you. I am, as always, grateful for all your kind words of encouragement and support. You are all simply amazing.

Until next time, KH.


	27. Falling Arrangements

Falling Arrangements

* * *

By the time Hermione woke the next morning, she was the only one left in the girl's dormitory.

It wasn't that she was typically a late sleeper. That honor belonged to Lavender: She was the night owl who wasn't to be awoken on the weekends until the house elves were clearing the lunch dishes.

But Hermione rolled over on her side, her fingers pulling the curtains open a little wider. Lavender's bed looked as though it hadn't been slept on at all. _Odd—that's very odd—perhaps she didn't come in last night.  
_

Hermione had always wondered, in the back of her mind, just how far Ron and Lavender had gone in their relationship. She never asked because she would always mutter a simple "I don't need to know" and then change the subject to other things. She didn't want to know because she didn't want to feel like Ron was comparing her to Lavender. She didn't want to feel like she was the second choice, the second best—

But Lavender's bed was empty. And if there was anything Lavender Brown valued more than Ron, it was sleep.

Hermione quickly turned to her other side and again, flickered her fingers through the curtains. Parvati had also vacated her bed but it looked as though it _had_ been slept in. The sheets pulled up to the pillow, the top blanket haphazardly thrown atop, crooked. Hastily put together.

Hermione tried not to think of it as she crawled out of bed, reaching for a hair tie and pulling back her morning mane. It was a Sunday in the castle. And looking out the window, it looked as though it was going to be one of those quite, calm, April Sundays. She'd spend the day going through her week's work—which consisted primarily of going through Harry and Ron's essays—and spend the rest of the afternoon down by the lake, flipping through her journal and trying to decide what she would do when the semester ended.

 _Maybe you need to think of the possibility Ron won't want to come on the search for Horcruxes,_ her inner demon murmured within her. _Maybe his continuing relationship with Lavender will mean he'll feel like he should stay and protect her—_

No, she insisted adamantly, dismissing the thought with all she could muster. Ron may be an idiot, but he was Harry's friend first. And he wouldn't—he couldn't—the hell with _their_ relationship, he was a loyal friend. He wouldn't abandon them now. No matter how enamored he was wither.

 _I don't need to know…_

She started listing things she _did_ know. She knew she was overreacting. She knew that she was creating something out of nothing. She knew she was important. She knew Harry was going to get Slughorn's memory. She knew how she felt about Fred. And she knew in a month's time they'd be together.

She didn't know where they'd be, but she did know they'd be together.

If Fred had it his way, she'd get off the train and return with him to Diagon Alley. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. It would mean she'd have to be on her guard—probably working in the back more than the front of the store to avoid any prying eyes or conversations. She couldn't let him be pulled in for questioning when she was discovered missing at the start of term.

Besides, there was another reason as to why Hermione didn't want to be seen as a fixture to the Shop. She was convinced when—not if, but _when_ —Molly Weasley found out she was staying with the twins, the Weasley matriarch would bring the Burrow down on her head quicker than the Erumpent horn at the Lovegoods. _No, you'll go back to Essex as planned. You have to get the house ready._

She didn't want to think of what those few weeks with Fred could be like. Living with him above the shop. She wasn't the picture of domesticity, but she could imagine cooking a meal together. Spending the night in his workshop drinking butterbeer as he brainstormed and she tinkered with the radio. She could already hear George in her head with his sarcastic remarks about the two of them with Lee Jordan coming in the evenings. Or they'd go out into London. The two of them. Hand in hand, enjoying a perfect summer night together.

Grabbing her school bag and a few books from the top of her trunk, she headed down the stairs to the Common Room, mentally trying to prioritize her day. She had to find Harry and Ron and collect their essays at some point today—and it would probably do her some good to study outside, enjoy the weather, or at the very least a pleasant distraction.

As she reached the final steps she saw Harry sitting in the chair directly in front of her who, upon seeing it was her coming down the stairs, seemed to fly from it as though he had been launched by a powerful spring.

"We need to talk," Harry said quickly, nodding his head to the portrait hole, his hand on her back as though he was trying to gently navigate her, "Care for a walk?"

"I'd rather care for some breakfast but something's telling me that's not going to happen, is it?" Hermione asked surprised. He gave a weak smile and Hermione felt her stomach squirm. Harry looked uncomfortable, which wasn't reassuring in the slightest.

She followed him to the fifth floor Charms wing, trying albeit unsuccessfully to carry on some level of small talk. When they finally stopped in front of an empty class room she stood, folding her arms and looking at the empty room turned to Harry. "You look like the Death Eaters are about to swoop down on us, what the hell is going on?"

"Come on, let's go inside," Harry started, he said opening the door and peaking in to make sure they were alone.

"What's going on Harry?" she asked, trying to hide her annoyance, "If this is so secretive, why didn't we have this chat in your dormitory?"

"Well, they're not Death Eaters—but someone's about to swoop down on us and I'd suggest we go in the classroom so they don't," he said with finality, holding the door open, "Room—come in— _now."_

"Don't need to get snippy," she sighed, rolling her eyes. She made her way to one of the open desks, bathed in the sunlight streaming from the morning sun. Hands folded in front of her, she looked up at Harry as though he was a Professor, tilted her head and asked, "Now what is it?"

"Have you seen Lavender this morning?" Harry asked, sitting on a desk opposite of her. The way he asked it, she knew he was aware of the answer before she gave it.

"No, she and Parvati were already up and out by the time I got up," Hermione answered, "Why? Are they my Death Eaters?"

"Trust me, you'll wish you had Bellatrix—"Harry said before he cast a silencing charm on the door and locked it tight.

She stood up in her chair, starting to get nervous. "Harry, what's going on?"

"They broke up" Harry blurted out. "Last night, Ron and Lavender broke up" he added like a necessary afterthought. "I left Gryffindor tower and they were a couple, I came back and he's waiting for me in the dormitory telling me she's ended it."

It was Hermione's turn to sit in silence. She hadn't been expecting this. She was expecting them to stick together. She was expecting Ron to abandon them next fall when the Horcrux whispered he should be with Lavender. Hadn't she just woke up thinking perhaps the two of them had a rendezvous last night? How had she gone from that thought to this realization in less than an hour?

"She ended it with him?" Hermione said, pausing for another moment, the room closing in on her "Why? What happened?"

"Apparently," Harry sighed, ruffling his hair uncomfortably, "You did."

Her fingers startled to tingle on top of each other. The room suddenly had the steadiness of a boat on a choppy sea. Her voice was stronger than she thought it'd be when she turned to him.

"What?"

"What happened at Hogsmeade yesterday Hermione?" Harry asked quietly, as though he was trying to be as delicate as possible. "Ron told me that you held his hand and Lavender saw it—"

"Percy was there! That's all—"Hermione started, "I knew how Ron would get with Percy bumbling around as though he owned the operation. He paid 10 Galleons to take that test so—" _So I did what I had done so many times before. I took his hand. I was his anchor. I kept him going. "_ So, I took his hand, it was a reflex I swear—figured he wouldn't get a refund if he was banned from the test for punching out a prat of a ministry official."

"That's more or less what Ron told me. He told Lavender you were just wishing him luck—"

"Bleeding Hippogriffs—did he really?" Hermione interrupted, a quiet rage bubbling vile within her, "Their relationship is based on her going to wish him Good Luck at Quidditich tryouts, how thick can he get—?"

"Apparently pretty thick because he told Lavender and if you had asked him he thought they were good. He was annoyed she was freaking out before their test—he blames her for the eyebrow bit—apparently she had said something about holding hands and raising eyebrows"

"Of course he blames her, Ron hasn't taken responsibility for anything since—" Hermione said flustered.

"Overall," Harry interrupted, "Ron thought that they were good. Until last night—"

"What did she think happened last night?" she asked, dreading the answer. This time she didn't know what it would be, but she had a sickening feeling she did.

Harry swung his legs off the desk and moved into the one closest to Hermione. "Romilda Vane has been coming on a little strong the last few days—I may have put on the invisibility cloak when I left last night—"

"So what's the big—" and before she could finish her sentence everything seemed to click. Harry had left a few minutes before her and Ron; They had been joking. It was perhaps the friendliest they been towards each other since the infamous snog session last fall.

And Lavender had felt threatened by that.

"That made Lavender break up with Ron? The two of us coming down the stairs together?" Hermione questioned.

"In a way—she saw you and Ron chatting as you came down from the boy's dormitory—"

"And she hadn't seen you—"Hermione's insides started to curl. "So she thought—she thought we were up in the dormitory alone—"

"And apparently you looked chummy. More chummy than Lavender would have liked. To his credit, Ron hasn't brought her up there before so she probably thought—"

"Shite," she swore, the walls closing in. "I remember she whisked him away when we came down. I didn't think anything of it. I just grabbed my stuff and headed upstairs for bed."

"What Ron told me," Harry explained said evenly, "Is she took him to an empty classroom and ran him through the ringer, telling him she knew he was cheating on her with you and that she refused to be second fiddle to Hermione Granger. Ron told her she was barking—"

Hermione's hand pressed against her temple, "Never a good thing to tell a woman in her moment of wrath—"

"Oh it gets better," Harry smiled mischievously, "You'll like this bit. He tells her that if he was cheating on her with Hermione, _you'd_ be smart enough to be sneaky at it—"

"No" she answered, a devious smile pulling at her lips, "He didn't say that—did he?"

"It gets better," he said again lightheartedly "And he told her that regardless, Hermione Granger had been around long before Lavender Brown and if she kept on accusing him of cheating on her, Hermione Granger would be around long after Lavender Brown as well."

"No!" Hermione said incredulously. It was her turn to pace, which she started to immediately. _This shouldn't be happening. This shouldn't be happening._ She was thinking as though a mantra, one that if she repeated enough would fix what Ron and Lavender had done.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she said aloud, and then the room started to spin a little more. "None of this was supposed to happen, but this—this," she waved her wand in the general direction of Gryffindor Common Room, "This really shouldn't have—how does he get off—what was he thinking—well he's Ronald, so thinking isn't his forte but—"

Harry rose from his chair and took her shoulders, "Calm down Hermione,"

"Calm down? You want me to calm down?" she continued, shaking loose of Harry's hands. "Lavender Brown thinks I'm the tart that's stolen her boyfriend and is probably telling that to anyone who will give her the time of day—what did she say after he said that?"

"More or less that he was a bastard and you were a tart," Harry answered quietly, "Hermione, I'm sorry for all this—but I wanted to tell you before the school started interrogating you—"

Like when they were in her fourth year and people wanted to know how the Gryffindor Know-it-All had bewitched Victor Krum into loving her while breaking the heart of the Boy-Who-Lived. When she was getting hate mail that turned her fingers in to pus marked hexes and left her wrapped like a mummy. It was only Cedric's death that had really stopped the rumor mill, but that hadn't stopped Cho Chang from seeing her as a threat.

And it was about to start all over again. _You've faced harder things since then, you can do this,_ she told herself, as thought it was supposed to be a rallying cry. _You're Hermione Granger, you can do anything._ "Don't worry about it—its fine—"

She noticed how the lines on Harry's face were still uneasy, "—I also wanted to ask when you're planning on telling Ron about Fred."

"Come again?" Hermione asked, her rallying cry dying with the lack of oxygen. She wasn't thinking clearly, she could have sworn Harry just asked when she was going to share to Ron, one of her oldest friends, that she was dating Fred. His brother. One of the brothers he had always compared himself against.

"Harry, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to tell someone whose just gotten out of a relationship that you are starting a relationship with their brother—its tactless," she laughed, " _'Hello, sorry to hear about your lost love but I just wanted you to know I'm with your brother, ta!_ '—Would you like me to cut him before I pour in the salt?"

"Hermione he just got out of relationship. She broke up with him because she thought there was something going on with the two of you. He's vulnerable right now," Harry side, again squirming uncomfortably, "And if you're not careful, he's going to make it really uncomfortable really quick."

"Bullocks," she swore again. "Absolute Bullocks. It took six years and neglect before Ron turned to me. He doesn't get to determine the terms of my relationships."

She didn't know what she was feeling. Annoyance that Harry would suggest Ron would coming running to her now. Anger that Lavender was going to be stirring up things that need not be stirred—and Ron—how much would this complicate things? What had it already complicated?

Hermione didn't love Ron, she loved Fred. At least, that's what every thought she had seemed to scream within her. In another life she had loved Ron, but she wondered how much of that was really love and what of it had really been a friendship—a partnership—that had been tested by storms and strengthened through apologies and whispered promises that it will be alright this time. That they would make it work.

 _But you can't make a heart feel things._ She knew that. She had always known that.

 _For the love of Hermione Granger, Always—_ Fred had said that. And she believed it. Wholeheartedly.

She didn't love Ron. That was fixed. But that didn't mean _he_ didn't love _her_.

Regardless, it didn't matter. She would just need to get Ron to realize that. Any feelings he had for her, he would have to put aside like they had before, for the Greater Good. For helping Harry get the horcruxes. That was their job, to support Harry. Nothing else mattered.

And hopefully, all this worry was for nothing. Hopefully he didn't love her. And if he did, perhaps this time around he wouldn't do anything—just as before.

She'd just have to try and talk Fred into a clandestine relationship—but she'd worry about that later. Because there were things that were far more important that Hermione Granger.

"Are you going to use the Felix today?" Hermione asked.

"I—Yes, I am," He answered surprised at her turn in conversation, "But what does that have to—"

She turned around and faced him with what she hoped was a calm smile, "It'll sort it all out. Just promise me this—don't drink it all. You'll only need a few hours' worth."

She lifted her hand to his cheek, patting one and kissing the other, "Thank you Harry. Don't worry, I'll take care of the rest."

Hermione walked out of the room and into the corridor. It was still mid-morning. The Castle was still waking up all around her. She didn't have the faintest idea of how she was going to deal with this, but she knew there were bigger things to worry about, and that's what she needed to take care of.

* * *

((*))

* * *

Making her way through the castle, she didn't know where she could go to avoid running in with Lavender or Ron. She was even tedious about running into Parvati who would think that her disclosure yesterday may have some role in Lavender's narrative of the Hogsmeade Visit and Ronald's betrayal.

There was one place she knew she could escape to and not be found. So after loading up her bag from the Great Hall, she made her way up the maze of staircases and corridors until she had reached their tower.

It was ridiculous how amused she was with that pronoun. _Their._ Something they shared, something that could be her sanctuary if he wasn't there to be it for her.

She waved her wand at her sweater that was transformed into a large blanket, conjuring a pillow out of her pencil box. It wasn't as soft as she liked it. McGonagall wouldn't have given her full marks for it, but it served nicely against the stone pillar.

She flipped through her bag until she found the two that she was interested in most—her little journal from Fred and the Half-Blood Princes' book. When Harry had jumped on her in the Common Room earlier she had half the mind to supposed it was going to be an inquisition asking for where the book was. Her fingers traced the cover of _Advanced Potion Making_ for a moment before turning her attention to her book, scrawling the password in the upper right corner and watching as the ink appeared like scurrying spiders to their pages.

The Prince's book had served it's purpose. It had kept Ron alive. It didn't have any other fixed points to serve. She could take hold of it now and not have to worry. Who knew, perhaps there was something tucked in there Harry had missed that could help them when they were on the run. Perhaps there was a tonic she could bookmark to save Fred or George—any of them. A counter jinx that could help them.

That's why she had brought it to the tower. To compare what had happened, and what else needed to happen—and what the book had to do with it.

There had been something important about it, something she couldn't put her hand on. She was looking at her timeline of what had happened before and she couldn't find it. _Was it while we were on the run?_ She thought, turning pages ahead, trying to see if the secret laid there but she saw something else that caught her attention.

It was a note for July 24th—That's the day she had arrived at the Burrow.

Hermione's arrival to the Burrow was different because this was the first time that she had taken herself there. That summer she had tried different theories of how she could keep her family safe while she was on the run. Each more dismal than the one before, until she came to the conclusion to send them abroad.

It was a week till Harry's Birthday. She knew they were probably going to move them before hand. Ron had sent her a letter inviting her to the Burrow, saying that they'd pick her up that night if she'd like. But she had insisted, saying she would had to take care of things first. _She had to take care of things—_

 _24_ _th_ _July—breakfast with mum and dad. Go upstairs and finish packing for the Burrow. Have tea with mum and dad this time. You'll regret it if you don't. Apparate to Burrow and tell Molly you parents send their love, they'll be in Barcelona with your Aunt Rose and Aunt Donna until the end of the war._

"You won't have to worry about that any more," she said allowed, taking her quill and driving an "X" through it. She'd stick with the Barcelona story. She might believe that. That way she wouldn't have to come up with extra lies on why her Family didn't need order protection. Of Course, Dumbledore would take care of that this time.

A sudden crack rang through the tower and Hermione jumped, her wand whipping out a shielding charm like a reflex as she looked for the source of the sound.

It was Dobby.

"Dobby," Hermione sighed, clutching her chest. She understood why Harry always seemed to jump when he encountered Dobby. It was becoming a side effect of the elf's sudden arrivals, "Dobby, what's wrong?"

"The Headmaster's back and he's asking for Miss Granger," Dobby said, giving a bow as he spoke. Hermione tutted, taking Dobby by the hand, "Dobby you don't bow to anyone, least of all me" she smiled. The House Elf smiled while it looked as though his orbs were misting. "What exactly did Dumbledore say?"

"That it was urgent he sees Miss Granger," Dobby repeated. "He said that it was of the greatest importance."

Hermione had heard the same message before when she was summoned to Dumbledore's office, when she first started having dreams of Ron and Fred's deaths. As she remembered, the visit hadn't gone as well as either of them had hopped, leading her to think that perhaps she was better off thanking Dobby and taking the little scroll in his hand and chucking it from the top of the tower.

Despite this last thought, she took the scroll to read _I would like to discuss our June plans with you at your earliest convenience. Please share with the gargoyles our mutual liking for Sugar Quills._

 _June Plans_

And then it clicked.

She put her books back in the bag and wiped the journal clear before also tucking it away. "Come on Dobby, lets go visit the Headmaster."

* * *

((*))

* * *

The clock chimed two as she walked into Dumbledore's study.

The Headmaster's lifetime collection of gadgets whirled merrily in an unbroken rhythm, having not slowed down for her arrival, just as they wouldn't for her departure. She wondered if they had when Dumbledore had died, or if they still carried on, not knowing their master's on rhythm had come to an end. She had never visited the Headmaster's office right after his death. When she visited after the Battle of Hogwarts, Snape had put them all away, preferring a more minimalist setting.

She watched as the spheres and orbs rotated in perfect time, not missing a moment's beat. Continuing a steady course regardless of the actions or surroundings of those in that particular pocket of time.

Hermione reached out her hand to touch an orb, wondering what the repercussions would be. Would the gadget continue on, or would everything fall apart? Would a new course start? What would the lasting effect truly be?

"Ah Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said casually as he came down the steps into his main study. Hermione tucked her hand to her side as he made for his desk, "Thank you for coming."

"I'm starting to wonder if Dobby has a trace on me," Hermione smiled, taking the chair infront of the desk, "Lucky I didn't die of fright."

Dumbledore smiled behind his half moon glasses, "You and I both know that it would take more than fight to end Hermione Granger."

Hermione turned her eyes to the ground and gave a weak smile, "No, I suppose it wouldn't." She turned again to face the Headmaster. "I got your letter. It said you wanted to discuss—"

Dumbledore placed his arms on the desk and started unwrapping his blackened hand. "My Death," the Headmaster said simply. "I'm afraid that even if I wanted to test Dr. Brown's theory, it wouldn't buy me the time we'd need."

"How long—" Hermione was taken aback by the disease, from where she sat she could see the outline of the bandage to well above his elbow, Had it always gone that high? Had she not noticed the gradual increase with each visit?

"Professor Snape said July, maybe August,"he answered calmly, "So you revelation last fall regarding that I die in June is actually a mercy in away—as you could imagine, the curse doesn't provide a peaceful ending."

She was bewildered at how coolly he was able to discuss his death, as though he was talking to her about one of her dreams or preparing her for occlumency—it was just another detail to a lesson, one she didn't quite understand. "Professor—why are you telling me this?"

"The last time you were in here Miss Granger I denied you erasing your memories. I cited the 'greater good' as my reasoning," the Professor seemed timid now at this, "You know, I hadn't said those words in years, let alone thought them. I'm afraid that while I was centered on recreating a certain ending," he looked at Hermione again, " I hadn't thought to ask what my role was in making sure that ending occurred."

"You want me to tell you how you die?" Hermione asked tentatively, "Professor—I'm not sure that's—"

"Oh I know how I'm going to die Miss Granger, I'm afraid that has been planned for quite some time," Dumbledore smiled, "Mr. Malfoy is going to try and do it—but Professor Snape will be of some assistance I believe?" he gave a knowing nod and continued, "What I'm asking is what do I need to do for you and the school once I've died."

"I—I don't understand," she replied, "You want to know what happens to the school after you die?"

"In a way," Dumbledore answered. "I have been spent this entire year knowing you know the secrets of what is to take place, but I haven't yet asked how I fit in after my death, if I still play a part. I want you to think of what happens after I go. Did I leave you anything that was beneficial—do I communicate any plans, secrets—"

"Professor," Hermione asked with a smile, "Have you ever shared any of your plans with us?"

Dumbledore gave a wrinkled smile, "That's a very good point. But please, tell me everything I did for you after I died-I need to make sure I have those preparations. So we can give Harry the best start."

Hermione still didn't understand what he was saying, at least she didn't think she did. "Is this like in our Third Year with the time Turner? If we hadn't gone back, Harry wouldn't have been able to cast the patronus that saved us from the Dementors?"

A sparkle seemed to shine in Dumbledore's eye, "The thought has definitely crossed my mind," he said, "If we have learned anything this year Miss Granger it is that the details can define us."

She looked down at the book she was holding in her lap, her hands fidgeting with the corner. The memories started flowing back to her, scrawling to her mind like the words she had kept in this book. "Your will," she said after a moment, "After all, you left Harry Ron and I very particular items in the will."

"Yes," Dumbledore answered excitedly, " I haven't made changes to my will since the first war ended. What do I leave you?" he snapped his fingers and a quill began taking notes.

"Your copy of Beedle the Bard," she answered, looking at the books behind the desk and identifying it from memory. "I still don't really know why. I always wanted to ask you about that."

Dumbledore smiled, " I can tell you at this moment I'm bequeathing it to you upon your request, But I'm sure you can assume that it's yours because you will learn the secrets others would miss."

"Ron you gave the Dillumniator, because—" her throat seemed to close in, "Because you knew that he could end up leaving us, and that he would regret it once he did."

"He left you?"Dumbledore asked taken aback, "Why—"he paused, "No. No, I don't need to know," he said, mimicking her line before turning his attention back to Hermione, "Do I?"

She smiled gently, "No, I don't think you do. Just know that he comes back. I think you've always understood Ron better than most. Its thanks to the Dilluminator he returns. I say his name at Christmas and he finds his way home."

"And Harry?"

Her thoughts had her back at the Burrow. The Three of them cramped on the couch as Scrimgeour read the will, handing Harry the Snitch. They didn't know the cryptic message inscribed on it yet. They were all holding their new knick-knacks with unknown curiosity. The grief for loosing Dumbledore was still raw, and now to be holding these last treasures, not knowing what they meant, what they wisdom they were meant to provide. What comfort could be found in them.

When the war had ended, when the three of them were back at the Burrow after the war, they talked about these gifts again. Harry told them about the Resurrection Stone, and how he figured Dumbledore had given him that stone for those last moments. So he could make the walk into deaths hand and greet him as an old friend. How it was his parents, Remus and Sirius that helped him do what had to be done. In a way, she felt that they had helped more than she and Ron could have in that moment, because how could Ron be asked to walk his friend to Death after loosing his brother? How could Hermione walk Harry, who was in all effect her best friend and her brother, to the grave?

She hadn't known that would be his plan. If she had, she would have tried coming up with a different plan. She could remember coming out of the numbing grief that Fred , Remus, and Tonks had died only to realize as she sat next to Luna in the Great Hall that Harry was missing. Once that thought was realized it was the only one that could occupy her head. _He wouldn't give up,_ she had told herself, _He wouldn't have left without saying goodbye-_ But she knew that was a lie. That Harry would do anything if it meant saving those he loved. After all, hadn't he proved that time and time again?

"You give Harry the resurrection stone," Hermione said, coming back to the present. "You hide in inside his first Snitch, with a message he only figures out at the end," she swallowed for a moment " _I open at the close"_

"He figures it out on his own?" Dumbledore asked, "Does anything make him realize what it is he needs to do?"

She thought for a moment, "No, its after she enters Snapes' memories," she answered in a matter-of-fact tone. "Snape—before he dies, he gives Harry his memories that explain everything. Why Snape chose to defect Voldemort the first time—Snape's help while we're on the run—Harry learns about Lily"

"Severus helps you?" Dumbledore began, slightly amazed, he seemed to shake his head and then come again, "I mean, Severus has always helped-he's agreed to help when I'm gone-"

And then other pieces of the puzzle comes together and Hermione realized there were more ways Dumbledore was able to help after he had passed. She had always assumed that Dumbledore had planned ahead. That he had every detail laid out. But was it possible that some of those details had been laid out because someone had told him what was to come, what was to be prepared for?

Hermione put the journal on the desk between the two of them, "He actually helps us because you tell him what to do."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Ginny Weasley had had much better days.

Her day had started out well enough. She had made it through most of the days without the knowledge of Ron and Lavender falling apart. She and Dean had been having a bit of a row the night before, and had gone flying that morning as an attempt to cool each other off. It had worked the first time, and the second, but they had done this so often she was starting to think the only thing improving was their Quidditch technique, not their communication skills.

The thing was, Dean didn't think he was doing anything wrong.

But _she_ did.

At first it was just chivalrous things. Holding the door open, helping her into the portrait hole—while she had grown up with brothers, she had seen her father do thing like this for mum and at first she had _liked_ it. She had liked dating a guy who would hold doors for her, who would add her broom to his as they walked back to the school. It was something so different from Terry Boot.

But then she noticed Dean was starting to answer for both of them. He had put her order at The Leaky Cauldron when they met up over Christmas Holiday. It hadn't bothered her at first. After all, he had ordered what she was planning on ordering anyway, but he kept doing similar things. Holding the door open for her before she was ready to leave the tent at Quidditch games. Helping her when she was getting through the portrait hole when she had already started in.

It wasn't chivalrous anymore—it was suffocating. She didn't know how to tell him he was closing in on her Independence, but that's what it felt like. _He isn't doing anything wrong—you can't break up with a guy for being a gentleman—_

But was he a gentleman if they were both walking on egg shells around each other?

They returned back to the castle in the early evening, and that's when she first heard of Ron's relationship. Luna was sitting on the steps in front of the Great Hall when she gave her the warning "Ron's hurt Lavender and she's blaming Hermione." _Bullocks. Absolute Bullocks Ronald._

"Don't get into it," Dean muttered as they walked into the hall, "Just don't pay attention."

"He's my brother Dean," Ginny sighed, "As much as I wish I couldn't avoid it—he's my brother."

She should have listened to him. She should have suggested they just go knick something from the kitchens. Fred and George had taught her this trick just for instances like this. But no, she had walked head first into the Great Hall, where Pansy Parkinson held court with housemates who saw Ginny's face and started their inquisition.

"So is it true that Weasley's are not only blood traitors but cheaters as well?" Daphne Greengrass asked as her friends started laughing.

 _I'm going to kill Ronald,_ Ginny noted internally as she kept a straight face. "That's a good question. But I have one for you first," Ginny started, tilting her head and looking at them all, "Is it true that your families are bigiots as well as Death Eaters? Or just simply Death Eaters. I can never remember."

Their laughter died and she saw Pansy Parkinson make a move for her wand. Ginny hadn't meant to shoot a Bat Boggey at her per se, but she had no intention to let gossip go around where Hermione was not there to defend herself. In full honesty, it was worth every point that would be taken from Gryffindor to see Daphne and Pansy running up to the Hospital Wing, points be damned.

But Dean… _Oh Dean…_

Dean had got on to her about it. Saying that she was better to stay out of it. That it wasn't any of their business. "But she's my friend," it wasn't a lie. Sure, she and Hermione weren't as close as Hermione was to Harry and Ron, but they were still friendly towards each other. She trusted Hermione. What more, she had spent enough time with Hermione over the years to know that she wouldn't have an affair with her brother. Least of all, an affair with Ron.

"Yes, well Ron's my friend too, doesn't mean I'm going to throw out hexes over him being a—"

All Ginny had to do was shoot Dean a look and he knew he had gone too far.

"Well maybe you should!" She said, taking her bag and heading out the Great Hall.

"Ginny—Gin—"

"If you're not going to stand up for your friends, what does that make you?"Ginny asked, turning around on the steps as Dean caught up with her. She knew she was being ridiculous. They had been squabbling over lots of things lately. This was just another thing they could squabble over.

"It makes me someone who doesn't want to get in other people's business," Dean shouted back, "Come on, the Slytherins are just trying to grab your goat—"

"And paint Hermione as a—"

"Hermione is a grown up who can stand her own ground. She's been called a mudblood since she was twelve, trust me she can stand up against anything the Slytherins come up with," Dean said firmly. This time he tried reach for her hand, but she had balled them into tight fists so he only had his hand around her wrist.

She gave her arm a strong flick, breaking loose of his grasp. "It doesn't mean she has to face it alone," she said through clinched teeth; "Don't follow me Dean."

"What do you mean don't follow you?" he asked following her up the stairs.

She kept walking up the stairs, "It means don't follow me—don't ever follow me again, don't tlk to me again. We're through."

She made her way to Gryffindor tower and although she was running away from Dean, she felt like she was finally free. Free of him, free of their relationship that had been closing in on her. She wasn't running but flying back to the Common Room, to the chair next to the fireplace where she could watch the flames dance and learn how to mimic them.

But that spot was taken by Hermione who had fallen asleep.

It wasn't anywhere near bedtime but she imagined that she had been through quite a bit that day. As busy as Ginny had been between Quidditch, Dean and figuring out her OWLS, she could only imagine how busy Hermione was in whatever quest she and the boys had taken on this term.

She took the quill out of Hermione's hand and dropped it into the schoolbag next to a one of her text books. She reached for the parchment and book that was in her friend's lap next to put them away, but a name caught her eye.

She hadn't meant to read the letter. But she saw that name. and it caught her eye. Ginny _knew_ the name, but she didn't know why it belonged on the parchment. It must be out of place. She looked at the words surrounding the name, and then the a new light seemed to spark in Ginny's head and she knew the rumors were complete false.

Hermione wasn't in love with Ron.

She was in love with Fred.

* * *

((*))

* * *

AN: I haven't written in so long I hope this is worth the wait! I'm sorry there isn't any Fred, by the time I meant to work on his portion of the chapter I saw the word count and had a heart attack. I feel like I say this with every chapter, but I wasn't in love with the first draft... thank you to beautiful Jen-Jen who has gone through every draft of this chapter and added little quips and offered precious advice...

I wanted this Chapter to be the olive branch for Hermione and Dumbledore. Where she reconcile some of the feelings she's had towards him since she fell back in time. I also wanted to pay tribute to PoA where time travel had implications that we didn't realize until we were there. I really hope it came across that way!

I feel like this chapter is a look at several of the different relationships Hermione is balancing. Her relationship with Harry, Ron, Dumbledore, and at long last at the end, with Fred. I feel a little devious breaking up Ron and Lavender, but I promise it has a purpose which we will get to in coming chapters. I am really sorry that We didn't get Fred in this chapter (re:word-count-heart-attack), but promise he will have presence in the next chapter.

Ok, Done with the "I" Statements. Too Many of those.

Prelude to 28:

Harry's secured the memory, and is hoping to secure more when he realizes that Ginny and Dean and no longer a thing; Meanwhile, Hermione continues to study the Prince's book to see what help he can offer, knowing what exactly they'll face while on the run. Fred receives two letters one from Remus another from his dearest sister who has a few secrets of her own to share.

Until Next Time, keep persisting!

All My Love,

KH


	28. Falling Controls

Chapter 28

Falling Controls

* * *

"Do you smell something?"

Fred looked up from the beaker he was currently working and took off his goggles. "George, I've been working on the new U-Know-Poo since close, everything smells to me."

"Nah, this is different, this smells good," His brother began, deeply inhaling the air again, his face relaxed and intoxicated,"Like Hogwarts kitchens—"

Fred dimmed the flame below the beaker, and walked over to where George was working. Or better, huffing, he hadn't done anything work related for the past half hour. Fred had to admit, it did smell nice—but not like the Kitchens. It was the familiar Lilac and Honey again, seeping into his system like he was back on that tower,the wind rushing through her hair slamming it with her smell. It was almost overpowering, and for he briefest of moments he thought that maybe she was behind him and he'd have to kick George out or something before he could stop himself from snogging—

But when he turned around he didn't see Hermione, but instead he saw the amortenita was starting to boil in the corner and he rushed to contain it before it spilled over, "Last time I put you in charge of the Love Potions mate, you're going to burn it if you're not careful."

"Would it be the end of the world if the shop smelt like fresh made bread?" George asked, looking wistfully in the corner as the little test tubes came to soak up the excess potion.

"No, but I might go mental," Fred said as George smirked, "That's right. How many more week's brother dear?"

Fred didn't turn around this time. Instead he flicked his wand and a can of worms sprung at George's head, one sticking in his left ear.

"Oi!" George cried, swatting the paper worm away, "Just trying to defuse the tension."

 _Four more weeks,_ he thought, _not even 28 days._ He hadn't wanted to keep a count down, but when he came back from Hogsmede with Remus—well, after he had gotten a verbal lashing from Remus was the more accurate description—he had come to his desk the next morning to find a miniature cuckoo clock that spouted out a miniature brunette holding a stack of book that were taken by a tall, devilishly good looking red head that sprouted out of the side. It took him a couple days before he realized that the clock didn't measure time but ticked down the days at noon—when they would inch closer together and musical ditty played in the background.

Again, he hadn't wanted to keep a count down. That's what crazy, obsessed people did. If anyone was crazy in this relationship it would be Hermione's sanity called into question, not his.

But, if it was his sanity that was at fault, he blamed that on Ginny.

A letter had come in the post last week from his sister, letting Fred (it was just Fred the letter was addressed to, George was quick to point out) know of the sudden falling out of love occurring for the Weasley siblings. He was indifferent about Ginny's break up with Dean—Fred never saw that going any further than Hogwarts—he was grateful she seemed so indifferent about it. But it was the other failing relationship and fall out that had him glance at the cuckoo clock.

Fred didn't doubt that Hermione cared for him. He knew she did. He'd doubt a good amount of things but he wouldn't doubt they were real.

What he _did_ doubt was how the recently single Ron may feel about his _friend_. Especially as he didn't know that she was seeing his older brother.

And what more, what his brother would do when he found out.

He could picture it all now. Ickle Ronniekins marching into the shop early in the summer holiday, arms swinging like the overgrown banshee he was, and after trying to hit him (Fred would be sure to have one of his shielding cloaks on), Ron would puff in incomplete sentences how his brother had wronged him, ruined any chances he had for eternal happiness, and something about ruing the day.

Fred was ok with that. He could deal with that. They were brothers. Blanket threats had been their conversation since the teddy bear incident.

But that's all he expected to happen. Ron would be bothered for a good week, maybe two—three tops. When she came to the Burrow he would be tense. He'd communicate in trollish grunts until Ginny had too much of it one day and she'd send a hex his way. _He's lucky she's still under the trace or she'd really have at it—_

And some where between the grunts and Ginny's reprisal, He'd stop. He'd get over it. He'd come down the stairs one morning for breakfast and he'd be the same old Ron, only angry at whoever failed to pass the bangers and eggs to his end of the table. After all, there was a wedding going on and he'd have the possibility of rendezvousing with one of Fleur's classmates. His brother had a small attention span. He'd probably see a cousin or Victor Krum and go bother them.

Because Ron was _her_ friend. Ron would respect his _friend's_ decision. No matter what he felt, Ron would tuck it aside for his _friend's_ sake.

At least, that's what Fred hoped.

"Fred—Fred you listening?"George asked, calling him back and away from his thoughts. His brother had stood up and was putting the potion into a series of vials. "This blanking out bits new. Maybe you've been working on the U-No-Poo too much. Keep doing this and Hermione will think U- _Know-_ Poo," George laughed at his own joke and put the vials in a chill box, "I was trying to ask when Remus was coming by again."

"Right," Fred said snapping back, he looked over to the desk and saw the note that Tonks had dropped by when she was on the way to Gringotts. "Said Dumbledore has him staying with the colony again this week and he will be in communication again soon so we can get the warning out in time."

"Is that all he said?" George asked suspiciously.

"He also said under no circumstance was I to go barging back to Hogwarts," Fred answered, annoyingly. "While he says he's alright with knowing Hermione and I are a couple he thinks me rushing back and forth will only draw attention to the two of us and could draw attention to Dumbledore's correspondence. So Tonks will take over my route for now."

"Because people aren't going to question why an Auror has taken up Owl Post to Dumbledore in his own school—" George started suspiciously.

"Thank you," Fred agreed, feeling vindicated.

"I mean, it's not like she can change her appearance at will to look like a student as she travels through the castle," George quipped, causing Fred to take that vindication and throw it out the window. _This would have been a better moment to chuck a worm in his ear..._

"Oi, I'm just saying Remus has a point." George said as he tapped his desk and the top rolled down and locked itself, the key floating to his hand. "Come on, we have to wait on him before we can execute either the pamphlets or the Prophet notice. Let's go meet up with Lee and the girls and go into town. We could try that muggle place off of Piccadilly. Get out of here for a night, pretend their isn't a war about to spring out of a can."

Fred cast his eyes to the cuckoo clock again. A part of him didn't want to go out because that meant he'd be going out with his brother and their friends and not dedicating an evening to working on the radio, or coming up with some plan he could share with her later. He had to go up to Chelsea tomorrow and see if they had the radio bit he had ordered and hope—hope above hope—that they would work and when she came back they'd be able to put it together.

And it would be the two of them—well, _three_ of them, adding in their own factor of the resistance.

"You're blanking out again," George said, clasping his hand to his brother's shoulder. "Come on, come with me, we're going to Piccadilly and I'm not taking no as an answer."

* * *

((*))

* * *

The afternoon sunshine was pouring through the windows of the library, spilling over like a warm blanket on the desk in the center of the room.

Hermione sat down and started pulling out her things. It wasn't her typical desk on the east wall that she had favored her seven years at the school, but it had been her spot for the last few weeks. Sure, she may no longer have the view of her towers and the lake below but it had quickly become necessary the last few weeks.

At this spot, _she_ was the view. The first person you saw when you entered the common area of the library. The second table in, right next to the restock cart. The Second _large_ table that commanded attention. Where you couldn't hide anything. Or, better yet, where you couldn't hide _anyone_. No Secret Romance, no torrid affairs. No one involved with any would in their right mind set up there to study on a daily basis.

The fall out of Ron and Lavender's break up hadn't been as bad as she had expected. While she liked to credit that to the fact she was visibly not with Ron, or seen coming out of a tight, confiding spot with him, she knew there where other helping factors that had stopped rumors from flying. After all, there was Ginny who seemed to be coping with her own break up by threatening anyone who so much as whispered in Hermione's vicinity with her own Bat Boogey Hex.

Meanwhile, Harry had instituted one of the most intense training regimens the Gryffindor team had ever seen in the past ten years. She had heard Katie confess in the girls lavatory that if she didn't know better Harry was becoming the evil captain spawn that could only have been produced from Oliver and Angelina, who she was sure would be looking at his sessions with near reverent awe. Three hours in the evenings and then two-a-days on the weekend guaranteeing that Ron's free time was as limited as possible. If Hermione asked him about it he'd simply say he was making sure his friend wasn't thinking about Lavender but she knew they both knew the better.

Regardless, Hermione was grateful to have both Harry and Ron out of her hair as Harry still was looking for his copy of the Half Blood Prince and was starting to grow suspicious of Hermione's denials. But perhaps she was just over thinking that. The book was safe and sound in her bag—and the spell that had been reserved for Draco was under Hermione's watch least Harry through away his final shot to play quidditch at Hogwarts.

As for Lavender—she still wouldn't look at Hermione, let alone talk to her. She was busy getting caught up on five months of gossip from Parvati who had been strolling through the charred remains of her friends relationship as though it was the gift she hadn't received at Christmas. Parvati was still civil to Hermione, and she supposed Parvati was the reason she hadn't woken up to find her belongings thrashed across the room or bed curtains ripped to ribbons.

Parvati had said Lavender had wanted to see Hermione's reaction if she broke up with Ron. So a reaction was the one thing Hermione was refusing to give. A show the very last thing she was willing to contribute to.

It had been a few weeks now and she hadn't been alone with Ron yet. She hadn't had to have any potentially awkward conversations. She hadn't had to tell him she was seeing Fred.

She had instead fallen into the healthy rhythm of coming up into the library in her free time, sitting at the large table with too many chairs and studying. Its what Hermione Granger did before, during, and now after the great Gryffindor Romance of 95'. She wasn't studying so much as she was leafing through books for potions and counter jinxes. Preparing. If anyone was noisy enough to ask what for she would smile sweetly and say her N.E.W.T , and watch as they back away-ed slowly, knowing better than to be on the receiving end of interrupting Hermione's studies.

Maybe that was more in the past. She looked down at her watch and noted it was almost five on a Tuesday. It wouldn't be long before Luna, Collin and a few of the other fifth years made there way up here to join her table. By eight every chair would be full and a ghost of a murmur would hang over the air as she helped them with their O.W.L preparation.

Sometimes she did more than prepare them for their O.W.L.s, in a way she hoped she was giving them tips of how to survive the next year at Hogwarts. She had started showing Luna how to do the charm she had used to send messages to the DA.

In the past, she would have been annoyed if she had to give up a few hours on her studies.

But now, she relished in it.

After the war, there had been inquiries over what to do in regards to students who had taken their test in what they called the Darkest Years—the years between Umbridge and the Carrows. The Board of Governors argued strongly that the students had received the best quality education under the situation—for the most part. The majority of the Governors came to the conclusion that it was only in the last year that the education of the students could be questioned, determining that it was difficult for students to gain the skills they'd be tested on if they had at one time or another been threatened with an unforgivable as punishment for less than satisfactory results.

There had been talk among the teachers of appealing the O.W.L and N.E.W.T exams be cancelled just for that reason—and then the Battle of Hogwarts had happened and those tests never happened. The test was for those outside the castle, tasked with the job to rebuild their world. The Board of Governors came to the conclusion that those who would have graduated in the Class of 1998 could be invited to return for either a full and unprecedented eighth year, study at home and take their N.E. with the Class of 1999, or they could appeal for Alternative Certification and avoid the process altogether.

That's what Ron and Harry had done. If you had asked Ron, he would've said the three of them were the reason they had made up such a test. They wanted their help and they wanted it now. "I don't need any of those blokes testing me on my ability to combat the Dark Arts," Ron had said as the three of them lay in the field behind the Burrow, the hot summer sun now a distant memory as the chill of night fall fell on them."Let's be honest, we've fought more of the Dark Arts than the entire testing panel combined."

"Can you imagine writing a paper and one of the Professors saying ' _Potter, you wouldn't use that spell as self defense in that scenario—'_ only for you to come back and say 'Well, I actually did use that when we were escaping the Ministry last September and it worked out ok," Harry said agreeing, looking over to Ron who had started doing his best Snape impersonation, " _A Polyjuice potion wouldn't last that long Weasley, five points from Gryffindor."_

"You'll need a better reason than Snape to keep you from going back to Hogwarts," Hermione said, looking up at the stars, a shooting star catching her gaze. She could feel Harry grow silent and still next to her. She knew that they had their reasons. Ron didn't want to go back because he didn't want to go back to having someone tell him what to do. He wanted to be part of the revamping of the Ministry. He wanted to be seen as a leader, like Harry, in helping Kingsley reconstruct the Auror Department.

Harry, he wouldn't go back either. Even though Hermione thought that it would be the best option for him—she dared to see a reporter try and sneak into the castle to get an interview only to cross paths with Minerva McGonagall—but she knew better now than she did then—the ghosts at Hogwarts were not limited to those who you could see. And for Harry, he could see them more than anyone.

She knew someday he'd be back at Hogwarts. She had come to that conclusion watching him teach the DA. Someday he'd be back, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, watching the Gryffindor Quidditch team and having tea with Minerva McGonagall every Sunday. But he had to heal first, himself and the world they lived in, before he took up residence at Hogwarts.

"You'll do it, wont you Hermione? The AC?" Ron asked, and she could feel his hand trace her fingers linking them with her own, "Who else would help us prepare for it?"

Harry saved her. He laughed, rolling on his side, "You really think Hermione Granger _won't_ go back? Are you daft?" Hermione had smiled at that, "He's right, besides—who will help the other Muggleborns who were on the run?"

"Madam Pince," Ron shrugged, he too now looking at her, but his gaze one of hurt and offense, "Come on Hermione. The three of us together in the Ministry—think of it—"

But she couldn't.

She had been on the run, like them but it wasn't who she was. She never wanted to be an Auror. She had no desire to chase Dark Wizards her entire life. She needed a respite. She could only think of her library. Her sanctuary. Her place she could run to. She'd face the ghosts. The ghosts were easier encounters than the living who wanted to know so, _so_ much of how she'd done it. What she was doing now. Seven years of Friendship with Harry had been dedicated to survival. She didn't know what to do next and she didn't want to share with the world quite yet that Hermione didn't know the answer to a question.

"No, I'm going back," she said firmly, keeping her eyes on the stars above. "I'm going back to Hogwarts."

"But Neville's even taking the AC—" Ron had said, his voice becoming harder.

"Neville ran an underground resistance in Hogwarts. He's a hero in his own right," she said sharply, throwing Ron a dirty look. "Besides, he's taking it but he's also thinking about coming back. Professor Sprout's offered him a work-study option to help her rebuild the Greenhouses."

"But what about us?" Ron had asked after Harry went back into the house a half hour later. "What about us?"

She couldn't remember what she had said. _Did you have that Quaffle on your stomach then?_ She wondered, _Could you tell—even then—what you can tell now? That you didn't love him? That he cared more than you did?_

"There is no us," Hermione said aloud, "There was never an us."

"What was that Hermione?"

Luna was setting down her books across from her, "Sorry Collin had to finish his muffin before we came in, Madam Pince nearly jumped down his throat just now seeing the crumbs on his collar."

"That's alright,"Hermione said, shaking the memories from her. They hadn't snuck up like that in a while. She looked at her bracelet, the time turner catching the sunlight.

"That's a very nice Will Bender," Luna said, motioning at the hourglass, "My Nann had one when I was little."

"A what?" Hermione asked with a smile as she pulled out some of her notes from last year's O.W.L prep, passing them over to Collin.

"A Will's Bender,"Luna answered, "It lets you will a different ending, or helps you fix something in the past. They're very tricky to operate though Hermione, you should be careful. The dust of the Gallfifairy are very fickle, if your will isn't certain it becomes more wibbly-wobbly than —"

Hermione hoped her face was kinder than it would've been in the past, "Don't worry Luna, I'm not planning on using it any time soon."

Luna nodded, still smiling as she pulled out her books , "It's a good thing to have, especially if you're using it for good. Nann would use it to find her glasses."

Hermione returned to her charm book and started scribbling in her book; Advance Charms was more than for the N.E.W.T level, this book was intended for those pursuing a career in Magical Defense—and focused on the Fidelius Charm. After brewing a years worth of Polyjuice Potion and everything else, the Fidelius Charm didn't seem as daunting as she had expected it would be.

The only thing she thought she'd struggle with was convincing Her Secret Keeper to take up the role.

And that was only because she didn't know how to tell him she was leaving.

If she was being honest with herself, that's what gave her more anxiety that Ron finding out about the two of them. Not that Fred would tell her not to go, but that somehow he'd have talked her into letting him come with them.

 _Don't be daft, you wouldn't let him do that—_ and that was true too. But not because she didn't want him to—it was illogical but love was illogical—no, she didn't want him to come because she knew she could survive Ron leaving. She didn't know what the outcome would be if Fred came and he left her, alone in the woods, crying in her bunk.

Ginny took her spot at the the table. She was wearing her quidditch robe and had her hair crisscrossed in a braid.

"Don't you have Quidditch practice?" Luna asked, scooting her stack of books over to make room for her friend.

"We're not meeting till seven," she sighed sinking into her chair,she cast her eyes towards the sunshine streaming through, "Would it kill us to study outside?"

"Don't say the 'O' Word, Pince will have you in a leg locker curse before you can cross the threshold,"Hermione warned as Ginny shrugged it off, staring at the book in front of her as though it was Riddles book back to eat away at her soul. "We're coming up on dinner—come on Hermione, sneak down to the kitchens with me, lets get something to eat before the books eat us."

Hermione took the book she had been reading from and put it in Luna's stack, "Just for a little bit—"

"I'll have her sneak you two something back," Ginny beamed as she flew from her seat, and took Hermione by the hand, nearly dragging her out of the room.

It wasn't that Ginny didn't study, she was more studious than Ron, but it was obvious it wasn't her favorite thing in the world. She loved Quidditch season, and the last few weeks without Dean, she seemed to love it all the more. She had been in a good mood, but it was on a broom, not in a book she was finding her happy place.

"Did any of your brothers like studying or was it just Percy and this is an act of rebelling against him?" Hermione asked as the two of them strolled down the corridor.

"Bill was a little bookish till his third year," Ginny laughed, "He and Charlie used to go to the muggle library in town until he borrowed a book where dwarves killed a dragon and reclaimed their gold."

'What happened after that?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"The Burning of _The Hobbit_ banned the Weasley children from the library, and officially ended Charlie's leisure reading. He was straight Scamander after that. Then there's Percy and Ron who are day and night—the twins read what they want," Ginny said, pausing for a minute before correcting herself, "Take that back, George reads more. But Fred enjoys hearing stories."

Hermione could feel Ginny's eyes on the back of her head as she shared that little detail about Fred. There had been a few other instances in between the break up and now where Ginny would do that. Say something about the twins and then single Fred out again. Here she had singled George but she couldn't help remembering Ginny say that she had gotten a letter from Fred the other day. Or that Fred was sending a package from the store soon, was there anything she wanted? Or that Fred had said he was working on a project and wanted to know what Hermione thought of it.

"Well he tells good stories, it doesn't surprise me he likes some every now and again," Hermione said casually, but she could see a smile curling on Ginny's lip. "Oh shut it," she said quickly and walked a little faster.

"Want to tell me a story Hermione? Like how you fell for my brother?" Ginny asked, trying to catch up with her, "Come on, I think it's great! Unexpected but—" she paused, taking Hermione by her shoulders to square her up, "I'll be honest, I like this so much better than the thought of you and Ron and—"

"Shh—we're in a corridor, someone will here you," Hermione interrupted looking around the corner.

"You fancy someone. It's not a sin," Ginny said, still smiling, "I'm sorry I was nosy and saw the letter you were writing him when you fel asleep a few weeks back. I've wanted to tell you for a while now, that I knew."

Hermione could feel her cheeks redden and the smile pull at the corners of her lips, " I'm glad," she said, "I'm glad it was you that found it—I'd have had a lot of explaining to do if someone else had found it."

"Don't worry, secret's safe with me. And I assume Harry?"

"Just you two," Hermione said, "Well at the castle. I'm sure George knows. Maybe Lee—but we're just keeping it quite for now."

Ginny gave her a look as though she wanted to say it sounds like _you're_ keeping it quite, but Hermione didn't want to revel more than she wanted to.

But Ginny wasn't done yet."He's happy, in his letters" she nudged as they came down another landing, "I mean he's always happy in his letters, but I think he wants to tell people, He asks about you in his letters. If it wasn't your letter that gave it away, it's his."

Hermione didn't say anything for a moment, but held on to the thought. She could imagine him vividly, sitting at his desk, scratching out a betraying phrase, only to turn to George in hopes he'd give a better one and determine his original one was better and then sypher the ink in his wand and write it again.

"I like him," Hermione said simply, the smile still lingering on her face, "I like him quite a bit."

Ginny smiled, "And that's all you have to tell people when you do decide to tell people. And don't worry about Ron. I'll take care of him if he makes a fuss."

"If?" Hermione countered.

"Very well, _when_ he makes a fuss." They had reached the first floor and Ginny was about to turn the corner to the hallway that led to the portrait of the painted fruit, "You coming?" Ginny asked.

"Be right behind you," Hermione promised. There was something that caught her eyes,"Just need to check on something quick—told McGonagall I would. We're getting new Prefect assignments."

Ginny nodded and disappeared down the back corridor, while Hermione turned her attention to the corridor across the hall.

The bit about McGonagall was a lie. She wanted to investigate something that had caught her eye but thought better than to drag Ginny into it. There was water spelt on the floor. And quite a bit of water. Which wasn't unheard of—it was near Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, but Myrtle had been subdued her sixth year if Hermione could remember right. But something seemed off to her. There was something she was forgetting.

She turned the corner to the hall nearest the restroom, Myrtle's Restroom. Snape had just come up the stairs from the dungeon and then the hall was engulfed in the sounds of an explosion, and a ghostly shrill calling out murder.

And then it all came rushing back. _Murder—Murder in the bathroom—_ that had been Myrtle's cry. Water, porcelain exploding like shrapnel—

From a distance, her eyes met Snape and she realized they both knew who was in the bathroom.

She ran in first, beating Snape in the room. The stalls looked as though the tops had been ripped away, similar to the time the Mountain Troll had tried to finish her off first year. One of the sinks and a toilet had burst and the pipes was sending down a wave of water that parted the scene like a curtain. A lake was forming at her ankles and she could see thin streams of crimson mixing in the water.

 _Had he already read the spell? Is that why he had still been able to do it? Was it worse now because he may not have remembered it as well as he had before?_

" _Expelliarmus!"_ she roared waiting at the ready to catch Harry's wand. But it wasn't the familiar holly that came to her. It was a familiar Hawthorne one instead.

She looked at the wand and her insides seemed to freeze and the walls came crashing in on her. _No-_

"Harry?" Hermione cried, as she pushed through the sprays of water. She saw Draco looking down at Harry, in a mix of dread and horror, as though even he hadn't thought it would be this bad. He made eye contact with her and she saw just how shaken he was. He wasn't the scary Draco Malfoy she had gone to school with, he was a frightened little boy. She shoved him out of the way, looking down at Harry trying to access the damage.

He had deep ribbons cut across his torso, and the crimson was deeper here, seeping through his shirt. Hermione fell to her knees and tried to see if was bleeding anywhere else, rapidly unbuttoning his shirt He was pale, and shaking.

Suddenly it wasn't water she was kneeling in but soft earth, she was trying to get leafs to soak up the blood, anything to stop the bleeding. Why didn't she have her purse. Her bag. Anything. She had taken the Prince's book to keep Harry in the game. Not so he could be the one ripped apart. Her hands were red, the rest of her skin pale in comparison. "Dittany," she muttered, "I need dittany. Go get Dittany—" she barked turning to Draco, who seemed to be clutching a sink for support, "He'll bleed out if you don't—"

Snape was in the room now, looking from Malfoy to Harry, from Harry to Hermione and then back to Harry again before he raised his arm and started muttering a spell that seemed to stop the bleeding. "Go tell Madam Pomfrey," Snape said as he continued in a second time, "That I will have Potter up shortly and he'll need a replenishment draft—"

She looked down at Harry and in his place she saw Ron, twisting and convulsing. It was her fault. It had been her fault before and here it was her fault again. She was realizing now she was crying, the hot water a relief to the cold. "Go you silly girl—go"

She looked at Draco and saw that he too looked pale. Paler than he ever had before. The sink was his sole support and even that seemed to be failing him. _How did he know that spell? Did Snape teach him—_

" _Miss Granger go—"_

She stumbled out of the room; and looked down at her hands, they were clean but shaking. Her clothes were wet but crimson blood on the sleeves. She felt she was shaking more than she had before, more than Malfoy.

* * *

((*))

* * *

In a scene similar to Ron's poisoning, people were assembled around Harry's bed. The Gryffindor Quidditch team had been the first on the scene, Hermione having ran to the kitchen's to grab Ginny to come with her before she had gone to Madam Pomfrey. She had tried to have Hermione stop and explain what had gone wrong, why they were running as though lives depended on it.

When Ron had been poisoned, all Ginny had to say was "Ron's been poisoned" and Hermione had shut up and followed her. It had the opposite effect on Ginny. Saying "Harry's been attacked" had launched into "What do you mean's?" and " Who?" and "How? That launched into the deeper questions of "Why was he there?" "Why did he do it?" " What spell did he use?"

Once Harry was situated in the Hospital Wing and Madam Pomfrey was talking with Snape, Ginny had gone down to the Quidditch pitch to tell the team there wouldn't be any practice. And, unless a miracle occurred, it was very likely that Hermione's plan to ensure he got to play one last Quidditch game would fail. Ginny had already been talking to Katie, asking her pinon if they needed to bring Dean back and have her sub in to play Seeker.

Hermione didn't stay for Harry to wake up. Instead she let herself disappear while the team converged in the corridor. Ron looked over and started to follow, but Hermione waved and muttered a brief "I'll see you in a bit."

Ron looked slightly crestfallen; but Katie Bell had brought him back into the conversation and any chance he would follow her evaporated.

The sun was setting, hitting the stained glass that cast its red glass on the western wall as though it was blood. Once she knew no one was watching her she stopped, leaned against the wall and sank to the floor. She rummaged through her bag that Luna had brought up when she had joined the well wishers earlier.

She pulled out the Half Blood Prince's book and she felt waves of disgust hit her. Not so much at the book, but at her. She had tried to give Harry one last game. Gamble he and Ginny coming together in the Common Room in the hope they might on the field. She had done all this and while it had a different outcome, he was still going to miss he game.

Dumbledore came to mind, something he had said about earlier in the year, talking about fixed points—was it possible that Harry missing that game was a fixed point? And then a certain chill hit her heart as she thought, not daring to actually ask least the universe over hear, was it possible that Fred dying was a fixed point too?

* * *

AN: It's been a while! And I had a free night and pumped out most of this chapter pretty quickly... so hopefully when I reread this after posting I won't have a "What was I thinking!?" moment.

So Hermione's taking the book caused a different outcome. How did Draco learn the spell? Theories? Quips? I welcome them all (and we'll answer those questions in coming chapters, fanfiction pinky swear.)

We are so close to leaving Hogwarts. I promise. Broken record but I promise. If i stick to my current post it note outline we're looking at two more chapters. And no one is more Happy than I am!

Don't worry, more Fred in the next Chapter. I promised a friend and poor guy needs more than 1k words to his credit.

Until next time, don't throw away your shot!

Kait Hobbit


	29. Falling Luck

Chapter 29

* * *

Falling Luck

* * *

"Please tell me you've snuck something up here?" Harry asked, leaning out of his bed as Hermione slipped through the door to the infirmary.

It had been two days and despite Snape's immediate work after the incident and Madam Pomfrey's series of Replenishment Drafts, Harry still remained in the Hospital Wing Thursday evening, his arms and torso covered in what now looked like thin ribbon marks rather than horrifying gashes.

"It's just a Percausion" Madam Pomfrey had said after Harry had stumbled trying to get up the first night, "You lost a good amount of blood."

"I stayed in the Hospital Wing overnight after you regrew my arm. I've got all limbs, I can go—" Harry complained as the Gryffindor Quidditch team smirked watching him try to wiggle out of her administering another cup of the draft. The Matron pursed her lips and clucked her tongue disapprovingly. "Yes, well I'd rather make sure you're keep up alright this time. I'm getting tired of re-growing and refurbishing Harry Potter every year."

Now he looked earnestly at Hermione with just a touch of crazy in his eye she recognized instantly as Cabin Fever.

"You're lucky I've got this bag," Hermione scoffed, sitting down at his bedside and pulling out a tin holding some Shepard's Pie she had knicked on her way up here from the kitchens. Harry set it on the table and pulled it over the bed, cutting himself a bite as Hermione filled his glass with bootleg pumpkin juice.

"Apparently getting on Madam Pomfrey's bad side isn't the best idea when she's the one who picks your dining options," Harry explained, taking down another bite the size of Hagrid's hand. "If I have another helping of Kippers and beans—"

"Never bite the hand that mends you," Hermione laughed, leaning into her chair, pulling out a book as she started making herself comfortable.

She had the evening shift. Her and Ginny had devised it to where Hermione would bother Harry while they were at Quidditch practice and she would come up with some of the team afterwards. While he might not be playing with them, he was still their captain, a detail the Slytherins couldn't change.

But this was a detail _Hermione_ had changed.

She felt awful. To her reckoning, this was the first time she could blame herself for Harry's misfortune. He didn't know it, but in another world it was Draco Malfoy, not Harry, who had been exiled to the infirmary. Draco Malfoy that would sooner starve the commit himself to eating Kippers and Beans. Who would probably have welcomed a respite from his dreary life to sit and lay in the Hospital Wing. Who knows, maybe it was where he was able to gather his courage, come up with the last moment push to finish what Voldemort had charged him to do.

But because it was her, it had been Harry who was up here. And worse of all, He didn't realize it was her fault.

He should be ignoring her when ever she entered the room, not beaming at the sight of her and the hope of Shepard's pie.

"Madam Pomfrey has a point you know," Hermione started again, watching as her friend ate, "Two visits in less than as many months. People are going to start thinking the sorting hat ought to have placed you in the infirmary from the start."

Harry shook his head and waved his fork at her. "Says the girl who lived here her second year."

She brushed some lint off the chair, "I was petrified, it doesn't count."

"Like Hell," Harry laughed, and Hermione smiled despite herself. He straightened up and put down his utensils. "So what am I missing? Out in the castle—week before our last big game-"

"You're fan club is anxious to know the details of you and Draco's duel. Romilda Vane wanted to start a petition to have him expelled, but yours truly shut that down," she said simply, waving her hands as though mimicking a bow.

"He should be expelled for being a Death Eater—"

"We don't know that," Hermione lied, "It was Dark Magic—but there's no way you can say your 100% sure that Draco's a Death Eater. Besides—he's doing detention with Snape for the rest of the year and first six weeks of next. "

"Fine," he sighed, although she knew quite well he was ending the battle, not the war. "So Romilda wants to have Draco expelled. Why does she even care?"

"They care, because they hope if you hear about them caring you'll start to notice them" Hermione answered, crossing her legs and nesting her head on her free hand. "Don't worry, I think Ginny said something to them along the lines of leaving you alone. She told off a few who were lingering near here when the team swung by last night. The Potter Protectorate's probably disbanded by now, people know better than to cross Ginny."

Harry had this look on his face when she had talked about Ginny. _You're obvious Potter, even Ron could see if he was here right now._ "It's a pity she's such a good chaser," Hermione continued, string the words together with a smile "the way she takes care of you, you'd think she was a Beater."

"What?" he was coming to as though he had momentarily been smacked a beater's bat. " Right. Quidditch, can you hand me that book on the desk? I have some plays planned and I know you're not a big quidditch fan but your logical and—"

"Are you planning for next season already?" Hermione asked, hoping he wasn't thinking that far ahead.

"No, for this Saturday," Harry said, waving the model other."I'm missing practice on the pitch so I figured I'd fine tune in here—"

"Harry, you—" she looked over, trying to see if there was any movement from Madam Pomfrey's office, "You aren't playing. You heard Madam Pomfrey she—"

"Yes, yes, _Potter's not playing,"_ Harry mimicked, turning his attention for the office and then back to Hermione. He lowered his voice and raised his eyebrow, "But what if I was _lucky_ —"

Hermione's insides went cold. A chill as though she had been thrown in the lake only to be rescued by a Dementor.

She hadn't expected this.

 _The Felix._

The chill left her and she was left with a feeling of uneasiness. "Harry you can't mean—"

"There's just enough left. A few hours. That's all I need," Harry said confidently, as though it was the only logical option they had left. "Enough for Pomfrey to clear me and then go and play the game. I probably won't be in the air for all of ten minutes and Dobby's not going to have a bludger waiting. It'll—"

"I'll report you," she said, her voice deadly calm, "I swear I will. You can't—"

 _You can't even begin to fathom—You can't gamble with the lives that are saved because you leave us the Felix. How many curses had they dodged that night? We only lose Dumbledore that night—whose to say Draco getting Dumbledore's wand isn't somehow tied to the little bit of Felix Felicis you leave us? It gave us the perfect storm. The Death Curse had just barely missed Ginny—_

The consequences of taking the Half Blood Prince's Book were starting to rack Hermione's heart.

And there was only so much she could say unless she wanted to share her secret with Harry.

 _He already knows about you and Fred. And if you share that secret, what is he going to do?_

 _He'll think your barking. He'll think your insane. He'll have you committed._

 _He'll tell Fred._

 _Then what will you do?_

"Hermione—"

She closed her eyes and took a breath, "Harry I can't explain why—but you need to save the Felix. What if there's something big—more hocruxes—what if –what if you could save friends with that potion—isn't that more important that Quidditch?"

Harry looked at her in such a way that for a moment, Hermione was confidence he thought she was mad, secret not shared, he had already jumped there.

And who knows, perhaps she was.

"Hermione, are you alright?"

Her head was pounding. She felt physically sick. Her taking the Book wasn't going to kill Bill Weasley was it? There was just a bit of Felix left when Bill arrived. They had placed some water in the vial to get the last drops, was that what had spared him from the full effects of Greyback's attack? She couldn't be responsible for taking Fleur's husband and Molly's son—Fred and Ron's brother—The room seemed to lose air. Her heart began racing. Would Bill die because she didn't want Harry to maim Draco? _And what about Ginny—_

 _Was it worth it Hermione? Was it?_

" _Hermione_ —" Harry said again, honing her in, recalling her out of her thoughts, "Hermione it's alright. Really, you'll see—"

"Please don't take the potion," Hermione asked, her voice breaking "Please—please don't. Something's coming Harry—I can feel it. They day's going to come when you'll need that potion. More than anything. And it won't be for a Quidditch game."

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, trying to get of his bed to face her head on. To better understand, to uncover what was racking her. "Are you and Fred alright?"

"We're fine," she said, shaking her head dismissing his worry, "Really we are. I just—I don't have a good feeling about using the potion for this. And you know it's against the rules—"

Harry looked at her and shook his head, "Hermione, if you're this upset about it, don't worry. I'll find another way out of here. I swear."

"No Felix?" Hermione asked, the storm with in her still churning.

He grabbed her hand, in that usual familiar way he always had, even when they were on the run. He smiled, as thought that was part of the promise, "Not a drop."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Fred weaved in between the cars in the street as he headed back to Diagon Alley.

If it wasn't for the fact it was actually sunny and pleasant out, he would have apparated back to the shop immediately after leaving the little Radio and Muggle Appliance shop. But there was a blue sky stretched above London. Cascading white clouds that seemed to just skim along out of reach of the high rises and church steeples. He had noticed a good amount of tourists seem to fill into the city picking up tabloids their pages with the stationary pictures of a muggle princess and in another frame five spicy pop stars.

Last year, when they first moved into the shop, he had George had realized just how many muggle tourists seemed to descend on London. Lee had started a game half way through the summer where the three of them would go together to one of the popular tourist destinations and offer to be a local guide for an attractive collegiate tourist. They had only done it once as a trio, but Lee was ready to continue the tradition and not ready to accept that Fred Weasley wouldn't be participating.

He had skirted around the subject last night when Lee brought it up again. Sooner or later he'd let it slip to him that he wasn't interested in going on the prowl anymore. He honestly wouldn't be surprised if George had already dropped a hint or two to Lee.

He wove through the bustling streets; skivving between the sunshine and shadows. The crowds were still tucked in coffee shops and tea houses. The crowds so thin, the morning tomber so low that when a he heard a Weird Sister song being whistled in the wind, he looked up to see where it came from.

"Bill?" Fred called out, watching as his brother walked out of the tall, white marbled building on the corner.

"Freddie," Bill beamed, hopping off the last stair to where he was standing face to face with his brother.

"What are you doing?" Fred asked, trying to peak over his brother's shoulder. "Isn't that a muggle bank?"

"The Goblins needed me to run over the exchange currency," Bill explained, turning back at the white alabaster columns. "Understandably, Wizards are preferred by mugglebankers over goblins. And just as well, the wand work you have to do if a disguising spell backfires."

"Right," Fred nodded, "Do you do the exchanges? Frequently?"

"Usually once every Quarter," Bill answered, "There is an slight influx of muggleborns who stock up after leaving Kings Cross when school ends, Probably will run an exchange again at next month and then we won't do another one till term starts."

"Makes sense, I suppose."

"Are you headed back to Diagon Alley?" Bill asked, looking at Fred's bag, "Are you doing business in Muggle London?"

"Yes—" Fred said, glancing at the bag, "This is for a pet project. Something new—something different—a hobby."

"Other than jokes?" Bill turned his head around, trying to read the store label stamped on the bag.

"Side hobby," Fred looked around. "Taking a leaf from dad's book. Little Muggle Oddities."

Bill gave the bag a second glance and shook his head. "I won't tell dad. If I do, next trip to the Burrow you won't make it past the gate before dad'll shanghai you to the shed to help him on something."

"Appreciate it,"Fred sighed, clutching the bag a little tighter. Bill noticed with a shadow. "Come on, its still early enough and the weather's actually descent. Hyde Park isn't far off, lets take a walk around the Serpentine before we head back."

"You sure? Work not expecting you?" Fred asked as the two already veered across the street toward the Park's Path.

"Work I under the impression I'm making the drop and then meeting Fleur for another bout of wedding planning. Fleur's under the impression I'm working all day."

Fred snickered and Bill shrugged. "Don't worry, I'm planning on surprising her for lunch. She just doesn't know yet. Women like romantic surprises like that every now and then. You'll learn that soon enough—"

 _Oh I know already,_ Fred thought. Remembering the surprised eyes and quick smile that seemed to light up Hermione's face when he met her in Hogsmead last month. He'd have to plan a few more surprises between the school years. Perhaps a trip to the sea side. Or they could do side-along apparation and go somewhere further—the southern coast of France. Or Barcelona—some place where they were away from all the danger. Where no one knew their faces, their names or their stories. Somewhere they could just be be.

As they turned the cornor Fred realized that Bill had stopped talking and he turned to face his brother quickly. "Sorry blacked out for a moment. What was that?"

It was his brother's turn to smirk. "Oh nothing. Just wanted to know if cared to share anymore details about that hobby of yours.

"Oh," Fred started. It wasn't a secret. Besides, if there was anyone he could trust in his family, it was probably Bill. Or Charlie. Pretty much anyone aside from Percy—and Ron. "Lee inherited a magical radio a few months ago. We're trying to see if we can get it up and running so we can do transmissions on it."

"Do a Prankster Comedy hour?" Bill asked.

"Perhaps," Fred shrugged. "But with the mail getting searched, we thought if we set up a secret station—perhaps that would be a more effective way to get work around to people about what's going on. Save a few lives along the way."

They entered into the gates of Hyde Park and Bill motioned his head to left path. The Park was at an almost eerie still a the rest of London. Fred could hear the laughs of people rowing on the Serpentine in the distance, their oars splashing into the water.

"Remus told me you've taken up service as an owl," Bill said evenly, fiddling with a nob at his wrist that Fred recognized as his wand. "That's the othe reason I'm not rushing off to Fleur yet or back to the office, I have a drop to make in an hour."

"Who are you dropping the letter to," Fred asked eagerly.

Bill shook his head, "Can't say, protection of the Owls."

"Bullocks, Remus told you I was doing it. Can't call sanctity of something after you've already run it through the gutter like that," Fred quipped, "Seriously Bill—who?"

"Dumbledore knows. And he's the only person who does. Remus only told me because I was on the fense about it. Thought saying if my younger brother was willing to I should be too." Bill said, almost apologetically. "Personally with Sirius' death, I think Remus has been coping by trying to be both James and Sirius. "

Fred shook his head, but thought of it for a moment and though that maybe there was some truth in Bill's theory. "Can you tell me what your running letters about?"

"Mostly information about what's going on inside the bank," Bill said evenly, still playing with the base of the wand tucked in his collar. "They've appointed Pius Thickenese as the new Head of the Treasury, which has the Goblins livid. Usually whenever its time to make Treasury Appointments, a joint coalition of Goblins and Wizards vote on the candidates. Its always a Witch or Wizard—never Goblin, but in the past the ministry has always allowed that much of a concession, that they have a voice in _which_ witch or wizard gets the top job."

"And this Thickenese character—is he a Death Eater?" Fred asked quietly as a group of joggers passed them.

"I don't think so, but he definitely has some Death Eater sympathies; very big on Wizard Superiority, won't be keen to cooperate and make concessions with the Goblins of Gringotts" Bill said. The had made it farther into the Park than Fred typically went. The large row boats that stayed in the Serpentine were absent from the stretch of water in front of them, and Bill kept going farther and farther in.

"I overheard Thickense talking to one of the Goblins on whether or not there was a way to identify muggleborn accounts," Bill said, and Fred noticed how he seemed to be struggling to keep his voice even.

"Why would they want to be able to—"

"Oh think Freddie," Bill quipped. "If they were able to do that, they'd be able to freeze accounts; if you can't get your money out of Gringotts, what are you going to do?"

"You aren't going to be able to take part in business," Fred responded, "Couldn't go to Diagon Alley, any magical shop—"

"You begin ostracizing them from the Magical Community," Bill nodded, "For the younger Muggleborns, it wouldn't be as bad. They'd have family on the outside that could help them. Or they could get a job. But for Muggleborns who have careers, who pay goes directly into the bank—"

"They'd have a harder time," Fred finished for him. He thought of Hermione. She'd be one of the lucky ones. Her parents would be able to help her. But her textbooks for next year—he could get those for her. Maybe he could work something out with Flourish and Blotts, they could get second hand books for returning Muggleborn students—he'd have to remember to talk to George about that.

"What did the goblin say?" Fred asked urgently, "To Thickenese, about the accounts?"

A smile split over Bill's face. "He said that Gringotts has never asked for the blood status of Witches, Wizards or Goblins when they came to open an account. And he seemed rather scandalized that Thickense would ask something like that."

A wave of relief seemed to wash over Fred. _She's safe._ "Do you think there's other ways they could identify the accounts?"

"They could try by how new the account is, but even that would be tricky. Not every family stays with the main account. I've split off the Weasley vault a long time ago. I'm sure you two have," Bill explained, "If they wanted to—if they really wanted to—I'm sure they could find away. Anyways—that and a bit more I can't share—that's whats headed to the Owl."

Fred nodded and the two stopped. There was a bench not too far that seemed to be calling them. Perhaps it was what they had just talked about—but the wave of relief had been fleeting and now all Fred seemed to be able to think about was what a war would mean for them all:For his brothers, for the shop—but mostly for Hermione.

She'd have two targets. One as a Muggleborn—a talented one for sure—but also as Harry Potter's best friend. She'd be one of their very first targets.

 _Does she know it yet? What they're plotting?_ If she did, she'd be trying to stop it. To delay it as long as she could. So long as she was at school, Fred wasn't afraid. As long as they had Dumbledore, they'd all be fine. Dumbeldore saw them through the last war, he'd be able to do this for the final war. Fred would keep a watch over her this summer and when she returned to Hogwarts next fall, regardless of what people did on the outside, she'd be safe in the castle.

"You know how to kill a spring morning Bill, I'll give you that,"Fred sighed, looking at the water through the trees.

"I could have swamped you with wedding plans. Either way you'd feel like this, " his brother laughed.

"Is that so?"

"Unless you really love her," Bill started, " Never propose to a Veela."

A smile cracked Fred's face. "Is that so? What does my darling Sister-in-law-to-be desire now?"

"She's still hoping to go to France for the ceremony, get married in the Veela Gardens of Versailles." Bill said shaking his head. "Apparently, when Louis built the Cheateau, his Chief Landscaper was a quarter Veela and went to work making the grounds as beautiful as possible, enriched with magical properties. Its modeled after their homeland—something or other. Fleur tends to speak more French than English when she talks about them—Anyway, there's a chance we can get in this summer when it's closed to the muggles for renovations. We go to Paris next month to look it over."

"Smart man would just elope when your there," Fred joked.

"That smart man would be killed by his mother and mother-in-law," Bill answered, "And probably his Bride who would think it the height of dishonor to be so selfish." The eldest Weasley sighed, looking over the waters again, "No, I'll go through the gardens and the traditions. No matter how grand and how annoyed the Wedding Party is."

"It's grown again?" Fred asked, remembering a comment from his mother a few weeks ago about how many names had already been submitted from Fleur.

"Every time she talks about the wedding it gets grander and larger—Gabrielle, Ginny, her friends from Beauxbatons. Latest head count she added in Hermione and wants to know if I thought Harry would be better served as an usher or Groomsmen. I'm convinced if she had it her way we wouldn't have any guests at all because they'd all be in the bridal party one way or another."

He thought about Hermione coming towards him in a golden dress. How it would reflect in her dark brown eyes and for the slight set moment he wondered if Fleur or his mother would put him in a full body bind curse if he started snogging her during the processional.

"Oh just cut Hermione and I from the party. You'll need some people to throw rice when you walk down the aisle," Fred suggested, leaning back into the bench. He noticed Bill raise an eyebrow and look at Fred knowingly. "Just you and Granger eh?"

He had said too much. Shown too much of his hand in this comfort of a brotherly chat. " We, er—can you keep that to yourself?"

Bill laughed, clapping his hand on Fred's shoulder. "Ginny dropped a hint to Charlie in a letter and he wrote me the other day asking if I knew anything."

"Ginny knows?" Fred asked flabbergasted. He had supposed, but now it was confirmed. His sister was well on her way to being a meddlesome to him as he and George had been with her. Bill was still smiling as he shrugged, "Don't worry, mum and Ron don't have the foggiest idea yet."

* * *

((*))

* * *

 _The sunshine was sneaking through her bedroom window, its gentle rays coming down and skimming the top of the white duvlet as though the rising was breaking through a cloud._

 _Hermione's eyes opened and she found herself in the Burrow, in Ginny's room. Ginny's side of the bed was already tucked in. If she closed her eyes and strained her ears, she thought she could her Ginny laughing in the orchard and the Quaffle being passed between her and Harry._

 _Slowly Hermione got out of bed, and grabbed a blue dress robe. Peering out the window, she tried to see the pair in the sun, but she couldn't. It was too sunny and they were right in the line of the morning rays. She watched the rest of the garden starting to wake up. A few gnomes were wrestling over one of Mr Weasley's muggle yard depictions of themselves. Mrs. Weasley's daffodils seemed to be catching in the rays of the sun and were beaming their own rays against the willow tree. She could see the top of the magical marquee in the distance, a golden standard blowing in the wind._

 _And then there were two arms that snaked around her side. She jumped and looked up to see Fred, his red hair like fire in the morning sun, with a gleeful smile on his face. "Morning," he smiled, his voice deep and groggy._

" _You gave me a heart attack," she said, her hand going from over heart to against his side in a forceful punch._

 _He pulled her closer and she could feel the bristles of his beard tickling the top of her head. "You've been doing that to my heart daily for almost a year now," he murmured. She could hear his heart beat. It was a steady rhythm with the occasional addition from the field. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to focus on his heartbeat. Wondering if what she was doing would prolong it or if it was doomed to numbered beats._

" _Think he'll end up with her in the end?" Fred asked. Hermione opened her eyes and tried to squint through the rays. "Ginny and Harry?" Hermione asked, "I—of course they will, you know that—"_

" _I think she's up for the idea still, but He's going to learn the hard way, a Weasley woman waits for no man—" he tutted._

 _Hermione's own heart seemed to skip a beat._

" _Come off it—they got together" and she wanted to add "Didn't they?" but she held back. She felt the arms around her lax and she turned to face what was now a dumbstruck Fred._

" _Harry and my sister? But when? Is she cheating on Dean?" His voice was strained now, "I mean I don't really care for the bloke but he seems decent—does he know? He gets here today for the wedding—"_

" _But—they broke up—"_

" _Yes, they did," Fred said, running his hand through his hair, in an characterized, almost scandalized fashion, "But they got back together—don't you remember? At the Quidditch final? Hermione—are you having a relapse?" His hand soothingly brushing her hair back, "Love, what year is it?"_

 _"What?" Hermione asked, "What are you talking about?"_

 _This time when he asked again, Hermione saw it, a gash of blood trickling down his head from above his hairline. His eyes empty and his touch cold, "Hermione-what have you done?"_

Hermione woke up so quickly, she nearly leapt out of bed.

"Easy their Hermione, no exams today, you're alright," Parvati soothed. She was in a Quidditch Scarf and had added some red and gold streaks into her hair. In fact, it looked like she was already dressed and ready to go to the game.

The game that hadn't happened yet.

 _It was just a dream—nothing more—_

But it seemed like a warning that was screaming at her.

"No, no exam, just the match," Hermione said, pulling out some jeans and a red and gold top from her wardrobe. "Must have overslept—how long until it starts?"

Parvati looked at her watch, "About half an hour—I didn't see you at breakfast so I came in to make sure you were alright—but if Lavender asks I'm just putting my scarf away. It's too warm out for a scarf."

Hermione nodded, appreciating Parvati's gesture. "Half hour? I was supposed to meet Harry, we were going to go down and watch the match together."

"I passed him on my way up, he was all dressed and said he'd see me after the match, he had to get something from his dorm."

And then everything inside Hermione went cold.

"H _e had to get something?"_ she seethed. He had promised her. Said no Felix. None. And he had gone up and got it when she hadn't met him.

"Yeah—"Parvati was looking at her as though she was regretting her gesture of friendship to come and check on Hermione. "Anyway, we best hurry—Game's going to start—"

Hermione was out the door before Parvati finished her sentence.

She stormed down the stairs, rightly smacking into Lavender Brown who got up looking annoyed and disgusted as though it was an intentional incident. Pursuing with a mumbled apology, she nearly tripped over herself getting through the portrait whole and _actually_ tripped over Crookshanks coming back into the Common Room.

The Halls were empty and when she reached the ground floor she could see the Great Hall was also a wasteland. A booming voice from the front doors told her that Parvati had underestimated the time. The match was well on its course and she was too late. Harry was there.

She hated herself for this. Absolutely hated herself. She wondered who would die now because she thought it would be better if Draco Malfoy didn't go through the Prince's Jinx. Which of her friends would be the first to find their blood on her hands?

She started running down the front walk towards the Quidditch Pitch. She was going to kill him. Horcrux be damned. She was going to kill him. Stab him with a basilks fang, kill the Horcrux and the traitorous, lying, philandering boy who lived.

She couldn't hear his name being carried by the announcer. Instead, Luna was humming _Weasley is our King_ while Professor McGonangall's unofficial commentary was going on behind them, the score lost when the stadium let out in a scream that shook the towers.

She was too late. Harry had won. Or someone had won. Perhaps her meddling had given Ravenclaw the win. But as she raced up the stairs, she clung to the railings and couldn't find Harry in the sky. Ginny was raising the snitch in the sky as her team mates flew to her and the Gryffindors sang on. Seven players, but their Captain missing- _but not quite-_

He had been there. Watching from the door frame the team would have flown out of. Hermione strained her eyes, but she could see him waving his arms, jumping up and down like a mad man in his Quidditch Robes.

 _He didn't take the potion,_ Hermione thought relief washing over her as he took his broom and flew to his team, huddled together at the base of the pitch where Dumbledore and McGonagall stood waiting with the cup. _He just wanted to be down here to watch the game, to be with them.  
_

Ron was shaking hands with Professor Dumbledore as McGonagal dried her eyes on a red and gold handkerchief as Ginny raised the cup in the air, the Gryiffindors cheering with the team all the while. Harry joined them and the crowd cheered all the more as he lifted up. He looked from the cup to Ginny and, passing it now to Katie and Hermione watched as he took a step forward and kissed Ginny full on the mouth.

Hermione smiled as her thoughts were drowned out in the crowd. The possibilities of several sunlit days seemed to be sealed in the sunbeams falling on them.

For the slightest moment, Hermione thought that perhaps Harry and Ginny coming together was a fixed point too.

And, she as though like a prayer, perhaps she and Fred could run into those sunlit days too.

* * *

AN: I've had this sitting on my desktop 2/3rds the way done now for a while and, given the long weekend, wanted to get it finished up. That being said I didn't read through in editing as often as I typically do so please forgive me!

First off, you guys are amazing. Seriously, I adore your reviews and the little insights you give. You've helped shape this story in so many ways.

In Review:

-Our dear girl is again going through her Survivor's Guilt in regards to Draco, Harry and what could have been. Again, we'll address the after effects of that in the next few Chapters.

-Some Brotherly moments between Fred and Bill. Haven't had enough of those two yet and that relationship is going to be very important as we get into the war.

I know I said last chapter we'd have a couple more at Hogwarts. I'm going to try and stick to that, but give me some leeway...did another reread of the series this summer and there were some things I'd forgotten. Next Chapter will skim some of the sunlit days, Ron ambushing Hermione into a conversation she's been dreading and a scroll arrives as Hermione realizes she's about to loose her only confidant this side of time.

I'll try and update sooner than last time. Hang in there and remember to be kind to one another. -KH


	30. Falling Fronts

Falling Fronts

* * *

((*))

The Sunlit days were dimmer than Hermione remembered.

In some ways they were very much the same. Harry and Ginny were inseparable. When they weren't in classes they were with each other, either enjoying the warm summer weather or Harry setting up in the library as Ginny studied for her OWLS. The only person that seemed to be trying to separate the two of them, other than Romilda Vane, was Snape who seemed to have become even more bitter at the sight of Harry and Ginny holding hands as they walked from class to class.

In her original time line, Hermione hadn't believed Snape was bitter when Harry had told her he lost ten points from Gryffindor for having his collar out of dress code. But when it happened again, Hermione supposed it may have something to do with Snape's memories of another red head who had walked with a boy who looked like Harry.

'Why was you collar disheveled?" Hermione asked slyly at the Gryffindor table that breakfast when Harry shared the story that had occurred the night before. Harry's cheeks flushed scarlet, " Got caught in the wind when we were flying," he answered quickly, "Forgot to fix it when we came back inside."

"Mhmm," Hermione nodded as she dropped a sugar cube in her tea and opened her morning paper.

"Anyone we know?" Harry asked.

"You're just looking for a way to change the subject before Ron comes down from upstairs and finds out about your out of dress code with his sister story,"Hermione said skimming the front page and flipping inside.

"Maybe," Harry said rather quickly, "Oh come on Hermione—if he finds out about that he might just find out about you and Fred."

She nearly slopped her tea in her lap, "Harry Potter don't you—"

"Anyone we know in the paper?" Ron asked, settling himself next to Hermione. She tried to convey a jinx in her eyes before turning from Harry to Ron.

"Not today, just a little blurp about a new Head of Treasury meeting with Goblins at Gringotts," Hermione said before taking the unread paper and passing it to Ron "Someone named Pius Something or Other."

"Been a quite week," Ron said looking over the front page as he assembled his plate, the breakfast sausages and fried eggs plopping in place. "Think the Death Eaters are on a Holiday?"

"I'm sure Voldemort's somewhere on the coast applying suntan lotion over his snake nose while Bellatrix is throwing hexes at sandcastles," Hermione quipped, noting Harry snorting from across the table. Ron's face flushed, "I didn't mean they were at the beach. I just supposed maybe there regrouping or planning something big."

His eyes didn't meet Hermione's and he quickly turned the page. Hermione turned to Harry who seemed to give her a look that said _you know better than to mock him before ten_. She sat up straight and turned to Ron again. "I know you didn't mean that—I was just trying to be funny."

Because if she had her choice of Weasley's to sit next to her, she knew there was one in particular who would have laughed at her Death Eater Beach Holiday. Hell, Fred would have gone a long with it and thrown in Borgin and Burkes were now advertising Vacation Packages for Death Eaters along the Rivera.

Ron responded with a silent nod and kept at his breakfast.

The reason the sunlit days had been dimmer, Hermione supposed, was her fault. In her past—how it could have happened—she and Ron had used the afternoons where Ginny and Harry were flying sitting in the Common Room, or walking the grounds themselves. It's when they apologized to one another for each other's behavior through the entire Lavender ordeal. Its where they learned how to be friends again. Where Hermione forgave and, despite her better judgement she was sure—began to find herself again infatuated with Ronald Weasley.

They were sunlit days for her because she had him back. She didn't have to worry about Lavender popping out behind the thicket. She just had to worry if he would still like her in a month when she returned to him at the Burrow.

This time, she found herself still avoiding Ron. Not intentionally, just out of habit. Harry and Ginny's absence had taken away the bumper they had created and neither Ron nor herself seemed to be racing to fill the void. He was doing what ever it was post-Quidditch-not-daiting-Lavender Ron did and she stayed in the library, hoping that the fifth years she was helping were picking up more than just study tips but survival tips that would serve them well in the next year.

She looked again at Harry who shrugged and then turned his head to the doors with a smile. Ginny had just entered the Hall.

"Morning," she said, kissing Harry on the cheek with a smile. "Morning you two," she said as she took her seat next to Harry.

Ron seemed to scowl, hoping to avoid another gaff with his words. "Morning Ginny. Ready for your first round of exams?"

Ginny wrinkled her eye brows and casually leaned on Harry's arm. "I'm ready for them to be done. I've decided I'm dropping Divination and History of Magic, so I figure there's no reason to study for them anyway. Just going to settle and cut my losses."

"Worked for me," Harry laughed, "Although you probably shouldn't share your academic destruction with Hermione, she looks petrified at the thought."

Ron smiled now and looked at Hermione. His icy, blue eyes searching over Hermione's face in a way she couldn't miss. She had seen that gaze before—last time. When the two of them—

 _No, absolutely not. He doesn't. He can't—_

She turned away and stood up quickly, gathering her bag.

"Oh Hermione I was joking—I'll at least get an A in Divination—half of that is charisma and charm—" Ginny joked.

"I know," Hermione said with a smile, "I just need to send of a letter to mum and dad quick—we're planning on going to Brussels this summer and they wanted me to send them my itinerary."

That was a lie—but it would be a useful one. And if she started soon enough with the lie, it would be so deep and so well know that maybe perhaps she would believe it.

She could hear footsteps following her and for the briefest moment she wondered if Ron had gotten up. She kept going, trying to lengthen her stride before she heard the soft, cheerful voice of Ashleigh Smith calling from behind.

"Hermione! Hermione slow down for a second," she called.

Ashleigh Smith was a Hufflepuff, and had been the Head Girl for the year. She had her hair cut just above her shoulders in a sandy bob. With eyes that mimicked the summer sky and a spew of freckles across her cheeks, Ashleigh was easy to trust and easy to befriend. When Ron started dating Lavender, Ashleigh convinced Steve Davers the Head boy that they should spice up the patrols and pair the prefects with other Houses. "It'll create a sense a inter-house unity," she had styled it to the prefects when route assignments were made. Ron usually did his tour with Padme Patel, while Hermione made rounds with Ashleigh, who had convinced "I'll be able to share you tips for when you're Head Girl next year."

But in all these experiences Hermione had learned another truth—Ashleigh horrible at hiding bad news. It spilled across her face as though she was going to be sick and her face looked like she had just been tasked with dating the Giant Squid.

"Do you have a minute?" Ashleigh asked, nodding to the side corridor,"I—er—Have something to tell you."

"Do you have the new Patrol Assignments? When are we going again?" Hermione asked, trying to stay chipper.

"It's abut the Patrol Assignments-I let Steve make then. He volunteered when I was studying for my NEWTs and he—he changed the patrol teams," Ashleigh explained. "I'm so sorry, but he split us up. You're on patrol duty with Ron next week."

 _Good luck avoiding him this time…_ Hermione cringed. " Oh well—"

"I volunteered to switch you back but Steve said he had given Ron the assignments last night—and he said he wanted to talk to me when _we_ did Patrol," Ashleigh's face flushed with a shadow of a smile. It was similar to the one Hermione kept for Fred and she wondered if Ashleigh and Steve had those special smiles for each other and she just hadn't noticed.

"It's alright—I can do a patrol with Ron, it won't be the end of the world. Where are we patrolling?" Hermione asked, hoping to sound chipper.

"The Towers," Ashleigh said, opening a little note book, just ot be sure. "I have you down for the Ravenclaw, Astronomy and charms corridor. Just at Curfew, make sure no wanders before bed."

"Not a problem—"Hermione said, "Ron and I used to do that round last year, we have a system. It shouldn't be a problem at all."

Ashleigh gave a smile of relief. "Thanks Hermione," she said as she heard her own name called from Steve in the Main corridor and Hermione noticed he was carrying two bags on his shoulder.

Hermione waved and watched the two disappear and, in envy, wished she could have swapped out Ron for Fred for the next few weeks. That he would be here. That he could be standing in the corridor waiting for her with her bag and a warm smile.

Instead she had Ron.

Which wasn't a bad thing. And a part of her felt awful for even wishing she could switch the two. She could just see his eyes. Those ice blue, sometimes sharp, sometimes kind, eyes looking over her face. In that gentle awe. That genuine look of love that he sometimes gave her.

 _You need to tell Ron,_ Harry had said. He had brought it up a few times since their initial conversation. And to be fair, she probably should. It had been weeks since Ron and Lavender had ended. Romilda Vane, Hermione noticed one day, seemed to be tryng to flirt with Ron but he had simply rolled his eyes and moved to another area of the library closer to Hermione's table.

 _You need to tell Ron,_ but she knew what the aftermath would be. And despite the fact that she wasn't in love with him, she knew that she'd be sacrificing one of the strongest rays of light in these sun lit days, her once constant friendship with Ron.

* * *

((*))

* * *

What Hermione liked most about patrolling the Towers was it had to be split up.

The castle was so large that the only way you'd ever complete the sweep within the patrol time was splitting up—one to Ravenclaw, one to the astronomy before they walked the Charms Corridor that led to Gryffindor tower.

In another life, she would have savored that walk back to the tower. It would be a few minutes with Ron. In another life, he would have been overly apologetic for Lavender. He would have been tripping over himself, trying to redeem himself. Try to make it right, and in another life, she had welcomed it.

But this time it was different. It was almost as though he wasn't sure about himself around her. He was nervous; he had upped his usual self-deprecation jokes. Sometimes they did talk, but Lavender never came up. She was a silent wedge that had been placed between them. It was as though they had an unspoken agreement—Ron wouldn't bring her up and Lavender and Hermione wouldn't ask after her.

She wouldn't lie, she was glad he hadn't tried to talk to her. She was nervous what a private conversation with Ron could lead to. If he suggested something, she would feel obligated to fill him in on her and Fred—Harry was right, no matter what she said, she knew Harry was right—but she also knew Ron, and knew that he was the jealous, insecure type. But she was afraid that if he knew, he'd be angry and wouldn't come with them to find the horcruxes.

She didn't care if he was angry—he could be angry at her and she could care less. But Harry _needed_ Ron to be there. Maybe not the full while, but from the get go. Harry needed to know that his friends where beside him. That they supported him. That _Ron_ supported him. Ron would be what Harry would miss the most—he always had been.

And she wouldn't get in the way of that.

It was the last night of their patrol. Ron had taken the Ravenclaw one the last few nights and as Hermione finished her sweep of the Astronomy tower she found that she had a few minutes before she was due to meet him in the Charms corridor.

Then the thought came to her. She could go up to _their_ tower. It wasn't too far off. She could just go up, see if the stars had broken free from the clouds and were at last visible. She hadn't gone up since Fred had been up there in March, and she had imagined it so many time she didn't know what was true and what was memory and what she had embellished. A part of her was convinced if she went up there she would smell his aftershave still lingering in the summer wind.

 _It'll only take a minute,_ Hermione told herself as she strode to the tower. _Besides, it's not too far from Charms—you'll probably beat Ron there._

She tapped on the door and climbed the stairs. When she reached the top, she couldn't smell his after shave. But if she tried hard, she could pretend. She could tell herself their was a slight aroma of gunpowder and pine that seemed to linger when Fred was there.

"I miss you" she said to the empty wind. "I really—really miss you." She turned her eyes to the sky and saw the stars above. It wouldn't be long now and she'd have him back. They'd have a few weeks of summer together before—

Before she started packing for them all. Before she emptied her house and set the enchantments so it could be a safe house if they needed it. Before she had to tell him she was leaving. Before she had to tell him goodbye.

 _Can you save them Hermione? Can you save them all?_

"Hermione?" a voice said unsure from below the stairs, "Are you up here?"

 _Shit._

"Ron?" Hermione asked, flying down the stairs, meeting him half way, "I'm sorry, I thought I heard something coming from up here, came up to give it a look. Nothing here at all. Come on lets go—"

Ron looked up towards the top of the stairs, "No it feels nice out here" his hand gingerly reached for her own, "How about we go up and give it a look.

She looked at their hands and then back to him, _No—No no, absolutely not—I forbid it—_

He kept his eyes on hers, as though he was trying to see if she was ok with what he had done. In typical Ron fashion, he couldn't read her face. He held on, and smiled "Come on, just five minutes?"

If this had happened before, she was sure her heart would have skipped a beat. If this had happened before, her feet wouldn't have dragged themselves up the stairs, but would have flown up to the top with him. If this had happened before, she would have blushed crimson. She wouldn't have noticed his hands were sweaty because hers were just as sweaty. She wouldn't have felt rocks in her stomach. It would have been butterflies.

Because last time—before—she had already decided she had forgiven him for Lavender. She had let tears fall on his shirt at Dumbledore's funeral. Last time she was in love with Him. Or, at the very least, she wanted to be.

This time she was trying to find an escape.

"I never knew about this tower, did you?" he asked when they reached the top. Hermione dropped his hand and walked towards the side, leaning over and looking up. "No," she lied, "I thought it was another classroom or something."

Ron tucked his hands in his pockets and looked up at the stars as well, then looking at Hermione. His gaze was similar to how it had been at Breakfast last week, and she wondered just how many times he gave her that look and she hadn't noticed.

"Hermione, I—I wanted to ask you something," Ron started.

The rocks in her stomach had grown into boulders, and she would have done anything for them to have come crushing down on her. They'd put her out of this misery.

"Hmm," Hermione asked, still gazing at the heavens, as though the orientation of Mars could prove her deliverance.

"I wanted to know if—I don't know, If you'd like to go out this weekend? Maybe a picnic by the lake or—"

"No," she said automatically, turning away from Mars and watched as Ron's head seemed to turn to see the pattern of the floor beneath them.

"No—I mean," Hermione walked over to him. _Would it be so bad to tell him about Fred?_ She thought. _Of Course he would—if Ron was going against his timeline—if he was asking her out—that meant that he was still interested in her and find out about her betrayal and his brother's—he can't know._

He was looking at her, waiting to hear that explanation. _Lie Hermione. Lie._

"Ron, I don't know you anymore," she said, walking hesitantly towards him. "We haven't talked in months—"

"We talk almost every day," Ron pushed back. She could see his eyebrows twisted and his ears glowed red in the moonlight. "Everyday Hermione—I come down to breakfast, we say good morning. I ask if anyone we know has died you say yes or no and pass me the eggs—"

She shook her head and gave a rueful smile. "We share words everyday," Hermione said, "You're a stranger to me, just as much as I am to you."

"You're not a stranger," Ron quipped, stepping towards her and taking her hand. "Hermione—You're one of my best friends—you—"

"You hurt me Ron," Hermione said firmly, shaking her hand lose. Ron's hand flinched as she moved away. "You hurt me with Lavender. When it started, when it ended—You broke my heart."

The tower had grown quite. If it wasn't for the sound of blood pounding in her ears, she would have wondered if any of this was real. If it wasn't just another dream and the ghost of Hermione's past would come to toss her off the tower so to keep Ron alive for when a sensible Hermione resurfaced.

To her horror, Ron took a step closer to her. He moved as though he was going to hold her hands but hesitated a moment, before completing the moment. She felt the quaffle settling on her stomach and the uncomfortable sincerity in his eyes. "I never wanted to break your heart—I didn't mean to," he muttered, " I think at first I just wanted to make you jealous that someone was interested in me and then I was down a rabbit hole I couldn't escape."

He dropped one of her hands and took his free one tuck a stray curl behind her ear. _No, don't do that—only Fred does that—I don't want you to—_

"You've made me cry on an annual basis Ronald," she said evenly. "At some point, every year you've reduced me to tears—I can't do that. I used to come up with excuses for you," she could feel her hands shaking, just like her voice, "But I can't anymore."

"What If I promised," Ron started, his hand holding hers tightly, "What if—if I changed."

"I can't do another broken heart Ron, not for you" she said, letting go of his hand and looking away, looking at the distance. Trying to move her feet that had become cement. "And you shouldn't want to take a risk on me. You just got out of a relationship, you're confused—you don't know what you want—"

"Dammit it Hermione I do," Ron said firmly, his hand gripping her own now. "The way I feel for you, its nothing like how I felt for Lavender. I like you—I think I—"

"Don't." Hermione broke away, _This is all a dream. This is all a very bad, bad dream._

"Can you give me a second chance" Ron asked," I mean, I think we've liked each other on and off again for the last six years. Are you really going to let that go just because of Lavender?"

 _I love your brother. I love Fred._

 _I love Fred._

"Let's be friends again," Hermione said, "We were friends before, that's where a lot of those feelings came from, Let's be friends again and maybe—" she took his hand this time, although everything within her seemed to shout against it. He looked down at their hands, and then at her face—"And Maybe?" he asked as though waiting for some magic words that could solve his inner distress.

"Let's be friends. And maybe—someday I can learn to trust you again," Hermione said hoping that her crossed fingers could serve as a signal to the universe that she was in desperate, dyer, emergency need of help.

Ron gave a nod squeezed her hand, " I think we could do that," he said at first as they headed down the stairs. Then he stopped suddenly, and turned to her, "No, I _know_ we can do that. Just you wait—"

She stopped mid stepped and Ron, still holding her hand yanked himself back, "What is it?"

"What if I end up not feeling the same way about you?" Hermione asked tentatively. It was a brave question in its own way. Ron would never strike her, but she still felt nervous letting the words out of her.

"Then I am the fool who threw away his best shot at happiness," Ron said candidly, looking straight at her face, the moonlight casting his blue eyes into a silvery, almost deathly glaze.

 _What if I end up falling in love with your brother?_ She wanted to ask, _What if I told you I was already with your brother?_

Then, Hermione was certain, at that moment Ron wouldn't be as charming as he was right now.

((*))

When Hermione woke the next morning, she wished it was all a bad dream. That Ron hadn't been so vulnerable in asking her to give him a second chance. As she lay in her bed, she wondered if she could convince _Lavender_ to give Ron a second chance. It was so much more convenient for her when the two of them where together.

All of her resolve to keep the knowledge of her and Fred from Ron seemed to crumbling. She had an out card—it just came at the cost of Ron leaving them before before they even started. She didn't have the foggiest idea how she was going to tell all of this to Fred; as much as they would both deny it, the brothers were cut from the same cloth and Fred would be livid when Hermione told him Ron had tried to ask her out. He'd probably insist that they snog around the Burrow over the summer so Ron could walk in and witness it and threaten to duel him. Her luck it'd be right before the Wedding, Victorie would get a hex to the face and they'd all be dead due to the joint wrath of Fleur and Molly.

 _This isn't supposed to happen. This isn't supposed to happen—_ she mentally chanted her holy mantra, turning on her side and pulling the blanket over her head. _This isn't supposed to happen at all—_

If she didn't tell either, she wondered if it would all go away. Maybe if she told just George he could find Ron a Veela cousin at the wedding for Ron—she'd act scandalized and he could go on to being the idiot who missed his shot. Fred wouldn't know the wiser and Molly wouldn't kill her sons.

 _Two months. You just have to keep you and Fred low key for two months…_

A snap like a gunshot rung in the dormitory. There was a high pitched " _YIP",_ that made Hermione jump up from her bed to see Parvati with her wand extended, pointing it from her bed at a trembling Dobby who had a silver tray with a blue teapot and cup.

"It's alright Parvati," Hermione said, looking at her roommate stare down the elf before she tucked back into her sheets, pulling the curtains to block out the morning sun as Lavender had when Dobby first arrived.

"Good Morning Miss," Dobby said pleasantly, placing the tea tray on her bed. " I wanted to wait till I saw you at breakfast but Professor Dumbledore asked to have this delivered straight away."

Hermione took the little scroll from the elf, "You shouldn't have, but thank you Dobby," she sighed a breath of relief.

"Not a problem Miss. I'll see you down stairs, I have a letter to deliver to Harry Potter as well,"

"To Harr—" but the words seemed to die in her voice. She looked at the date and the feeling of relief seemed to flee with the morning dew.

She looked at the letter and opened it quickly, her hand shaking violently as she did so.

 _Dear Miss Granger,_

 _I was hoping to speak with you over lunch this afternoon to discuss a few last minute suggestions for your Summer Holiday. Please inform the gargoyles you share my taste of muggle candies, particularly Lemon Drops._

 _Yours faithfully,_

 _Albus Dumbledore_

She read the message a few more times before what it meant sunk in. The last time she had met with Dumbledore he had told her about the will, what he had left the three of them, she told him how he would need to work with Snape and Phineas Nigellus to guide them when they were on the run.

She didn't realize she was telling him how to say goodbye. Not then in that moment.

 _A few last minute suggestions for your Summer Holiday—_ those words seemed to press down on her like the boulders of last night.

Dumbledore's death was only a few hours away.

* * *

((*))

* * *

"Professor," Hermione called as she knocked the door. "Professor Dumbledore, are you here?" she asked, opening the door and gingerly looking behind it.

The office was empty. A hum of gadgets and trinkets played their steady melody on the counter tops. She could see the Pensive Basin just outside of it's cabinet and a few crystal vials glowing near by.

She walked closer, to the Basin, gingerly looking at the desk as though she half expected to see the chair magically filled by the Headmaster. But he wasn't in the chair or the office as she reached the basin.

When the battle was over, when they had all woken up in that first afternoon of peace, Harry had taken her up to the Pensive and showed her Snape's Memories. Ron hadn't come then, he was with his family. She wanted to go with him, be with the Weasleys as they grieved Fred, but Harry needed someone else to know. Someone else to see what he had seen. Someone to know what Snape had done,

It was an unpleasant memory, falling through time, through space, fingering your way through other people's memories. Witnessing the missed opportunities, the choices made and futures created at the cost of lost wasn't sure if everyone's memories were like Snapes, but she felt as though everything was bleak. As though there was very little light, until he met Lily—and when he lost her it got darker and dimmer than she thought it was possible.

Dumbledore's catalog of memories were in the crystal turnstile, his familiar slanted hand writing on papers that organized them. She wasn't sure if it was by subject, or year the hundreds of vials were organized by. But she saw something that caught her eye—

Her name, slanted with a date from last fall scribbled shortly their after. She looked closer and saw that there were a few more, with vials carrying Harry's name and interspersed between the dates. _And he saved all the memories of these meetings? What would happen to them now? Surely—Surely he wasn't going to entrust them to Snape—_

"I see you, like a moth to the flame have found the pensive?" a calm, almost cheerful Dumbledore said from behind her.

Hermione turned, surprised written on her face. "Professor, I—" she stopped for a moment, "You weren't here and I—I thought there was something glowing and I came over to see."

"It's not a sin to be curious Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a smile this time, "In fact, it is the sign of intellect that tends to mistaken as a vice more than the virture it is."

"Yes," Hermione said nodding, but looking at the vials and then Dumbledore, "Professor, are those memories—are they of our meetings?"

"They are," Dumbledore said, his turn to look at the turnstile of memories, "You see Miss Granger, when you make it to how old as I am, you find that memories can sometimes be best served from a different perspective. Especially in different circumstances." He sized up the vials and gave a bitter sweet smile, "I think I have gained all I can from these memories for now—these are for you now."

"For me?" she asked, looking at them all again, "All of these?"

"No—just the ones with your name on them. And Harry's of course," Dumbledore said, waving his non-dead hand as 8 or so vials leaped from their container and placed themselves ever so softly back on the desk, next to a stack of books.

Hermione recognized the books almost instantly. The worn, black leather. The silver lettering long lost you could only tell the title as it had been embossed. "Professor, those are the Horcrux Books."

"They are," Dumbeldore said simply, "Miss Granger—the time has come I'm afraid. Harry will be coming later this afternoon and we are going to attempt to get the locket."

"Professor—" She wanted to tell him it was a fake. But he had been insistent he not know anything explicit about the Horcruxes. Dumbledore was going to his death thinking it meant he was getting Harry a step closer to defeating Voldemort.

"I know you told me that youre able to get these books after I die—but I figured It be better you get them while I'm living. You were lucky last time. I'm afraid the Minister would be very anxious to know why you were summoning books on Dark Magic," Dumbledore nodded to the stack.

"Thank you," Hermione said taking the books and memories and placing them in her extendable bag.

Dumbledore sat in his chair behind the desk. "I also hoped to trouble you for a moment, have a cup of tea?"

Hermione sat down in the seat across from him and two china cups appeared while an aged tea pot with lilac painted flowers zoomed in from the study. She smiled, "Knew I'd say yes?" she asked.

"I knew you would be kind to an old man," Dumbledore smiled, "Especially as he has called you to say goodbye."

She looked down at the ground, "Professor—are you sure—"

"Of a great many things, no," Dumbledore interrupted, "But I am sure that I am ready, and more importantly, that you are as well."

"That makes one of us," Hermione shrugged, "Professor, what if I mess it up? What if I go off the path and something terrible happens?"

"Then something terrible happens," Dumbledore said simply. "But you will be able to make it back on the path. I know you Miss Granger, and you will do what ever it takes to see Harry defeat Lord Voldemort."

"So go ahead through caution to the wind and get it all done in three months?" Hermione asked, " If you want, don't go tonight and I'll go pick up the missing horcruxes now—I'll—"

"No Miss Granger," Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. "Harry isn't ready yet. He needs to be—in order for what needs to be done. I do advise you stick as close to the timeline as you can, for his sake."

Hermione looked at her cup of tea. Typically, she used to get a sense of comfort from a cup of tea. When she stayed at Granny Granger, she used to get a cup before she went to bed and it seemed to make everything right. She took a sip and the only thing that seemed to spread throughout her was a warm sense of uncomfortably that had been left from Ron.

"Professor—I have something silly to ask—"

"In my near 70 years of education I can tell you I have heard my fair share of silly questions and very few, if any, where silly questions," Dumbledore laughed, lifting his cup of tea. "But please, do try."

"You know about Fred and I, I've told you as much—"

"Yes. You have," Dumbledore said with a smile that seemed to add a sparkle to his eyes, "Remus reports he is quite smitten with you. What could be silly about that?"

"I—" she hadn't told Dumbeldore that Fred would die. _No, he isn't going to die—_ she hadn't told him that there was a chance Fred _could_ die.

She wasn't sure what she was trying to ask. _Ron wants to date me, but I haven't told him I'm seeing his brother—how do you think that will effect the Horcrux hunt?_ Or better yet, _There's a chance Fred can die—I don't want him to die. I won't be able to make it if he dies—how can I keep him from that?_

"How do you say goodbye?" Hermione asked, "that seems like a really silly question—" her voice broke and she shook her head, " I mean, that's what we're doing right now, aren't we?"

Dumbledore leaned in his chair, and turned over to see Fawkes coming through the window; cooing at the sight of Dumbledore and Hermione.

"We don't," Dumbledore said, "Because when we say goodbye, it has a sense of finality. Something you don't return to."

"But Headmaster, this is the final time—"

Dumbledore smiled yet again and gave her a mischievous look over his half rimmed glasses, "Oh Miss Granger, The ones who love us never truly leave us. You must know that by now."

She looked down at her shoes. This wasn't what she wanted to hear. She didn't want to hear pleasant sound bites she could write down in a card and leave when she disappeared in the August night.

"I suppose," Hermione said. _Finality_. That's what stuck out to her. Dumbledore was talking about finality and that's what Fred's death would mean if she failed. No do-overs. Not again. Just his last laugh etched on his face and failure carved into hers.

She felt a warm hand touch hers and give it the softest of squeezes. "It's best to say goodbye the same way you'd say hello," Dumbledore answered softly, "a warm embrace and a touch that lingers once your path no longer does."

She gripped on to his hand with both of hers, and she could feel tears start to prick at the back of her eyes. It shouldn't be this way. She could stop it. She could save him, she could save Dumbledore and maybe that would save Fred.

"It is a far better thing I do than I have ever done before," Dumbledore said gently, again squeezing her hands, "It is a far better rest that I go to than I have ever know before."

* * *

((*))

* * *

The bell to the shop tinkled as the last group of patrons left for the day. Fred waved his wand and the sign flipped over to "Closed" as laughter erupted from the back room.

It was late. The Brothers had been testing with late hours, seeing if that would help intice customers to come to the alley. He and George had tried talking a few of the other shops—Flourish and Blotts, Quality Quidditch Supply, a few more—into staying open and doing an event on the Alley, draw comfort and strength in numbers. But the other shops were having a hard enough time getting their employees to stay till the end of their present working hours. A few extra galleons wasn't enough to tempt them.

"What are you lot going on about?" Fred asked as he walked into the backroom. George and Lee were shaking with laughter as Fleur sat triumphant in the chair as though a queen on her throne.

"Our dearest sister-to-be just gave us her best Celestina Warbeck impersonation," George said, looking from Fleur to Fred, with tears brimming in his eyes."Or better yet, mum's impersonation of Celestina."

Lee wiped his eyes and turned to Fred, "Honestly, it's spot on."

Fleur gave a mock bow as the two applauded over her.

"You brave brave woman," Fred grinned patting Fleur's shoulder.

"No Fred, your brother is the brave one," Fleur said rolling her eyes, " Or he will need to be if he doesn't come back soon."

"Let me guess, brother dearest asked you to a late night dinner and dropped you off with his favourites while he fill in for Mad Eye," George said laughing.

"Oh, so it's Monsieur Mad Eye's fault," Fleur scowled, folding her arms with a glare that resembled Mrs Weasley more than Fred would ever admit. "He told me we could take a flight up and down the coast—there's enough fog off of Dover no one would see, but _no_ Monsieur Mad Eye sends a patronus"

Fred felt bad for throwing Mad Eye under the Knight Bus. It was only half true. In Mad Eye's defense, Bill was on call for help tonight and when an owl had come from Dumbledore that evening asking for extra help to the school, Bill had no choice.

Fleur had helped in the shop for the past few hours. George and Lee had entertained her with a few of their new Dream Witch Line. After forty five minutes of pouring over the boxes for Gabrielle, she was growing irritated, something Fred accounted to growing anxiety. She had looked at the door three or four times since Fred came into the room.

"Don't worry Fleur, He'll be back soon and you can give him the hell he has to pay," Fred said, "Just make sure George and Lee get to see it when you do—"

There was a sudden crash from the front room and all four of them jumped to their feet, wands extended. Fred turned to George first, "Come on Georgie, probably just some delinquent who wants his hands removed for him. Lee?"

"We'll be right behind you," he said evenly. " Right Fleur?"

She nodded. Fred gripped his wand as they pressed forward into the main room.

The shop was eerie in the dark. But what was more eerier was the silvery weasel glowing on the counter. Fred had seen that weasel before and it hadn't been a good thing on that occasion.

That time, it was to tell them Ginny and Ron had been injured. That lead him to Hermione confused about what year it was—

"Come to the school at once" his father's voice said, standing on its hind legs, "Bill's been attacked."

Fred seemed to freeze on the spot, but he could hear Fleur take in a sharp breath. He turned around and the color was drained from her face. If possible her eyes seemed to have gone vacant and she looked as great and as terrible as the Veelas from the Quidditch World Cup.

" _Come to the school at once. Bill's been attacked."_

* * *

AN: I feel as though I crammed a _whole_ lot in that chapter!

I loved writing this chapter because it was a lot of relationships; especially between Hermione and those who are important to her-Harry (and Ginny), Ron and Dumbledore. I know this story is a lot of Time Travel-But this is something our girl is going to be struggling with, something i hope was reflected in this chapter. If we're being honest, this is probably one of my favourite chapters i've written in a while just because of the relationships and the sense of responsibility and duty Hermione feels towards them.

Next Chapter is the last chapter at Hogwarts (Halla-freaking-lujah). And we're going to start seeing more evidence of Hermione putting away the scholar and putting on the warrior persona. And there will be baggage that comes with that, be sure. Meanwhile, Fred is going to be grappling with what Dumbledore's death means for him, the shop, and of course Hermione.

Thank you all for being wonderful sunshines in my life. You make my writing beam with sunlit rays.

Until next time, KH.


	31. Falling Promises

Falling Promises

* * *

" _Come to the school at once. Bill's been attacked."_

They made it to Hogsmede in record time. The Glow of the Patronus hadn't yet dissipated when the three of them made for the fireplace in the back room. Lee would stay at the shop to see if any more news came. George went first, then Fleur—followed in a moment by Fred.

The Three Broomsticks was already turning into a train station with people coming in and out, the same frantic fear in their faces, eyes darting every time the flames gave way to another worried face. Fred could recognize Rita Skeeter trying to get information out of poor Rosemerta who was being consoled by one of the townspeople, the quill scratching out a false sonata on the parchment as Rosemerta's neighbor shooed it away.

George was holding Fleurs hand, trying to steady her for what was to come in the next few hours. The terror that had hit her face when his dad's Patronus first arrived seemed to have fled as soon as it arrived—but Fred could notice traces that lingered. Her eyes were darker, the blue skies now turned by the summer's storm. They seemed unable to focus on anything longer than a minute. Fred had asked if she wanted to stay with Lee, but her expression said it was coming. There was no question of that. Bill was her fiance. They would be visiting the Veela Gardens of Versailles that weekend. Where she would marry Bill and become his wife. She was coming to remind her Bill of this promise and they would be leaving together.

"I wonder Rosemerta, can you confirm you saw the mark?" Fred stopped and turned around, nearly spinning on his heels. "What did you say?" he asked Rita who looked enthralled at someone who would actually speak to her.

"Ah! Did you see the Dark Mark? What time was it at? Did you see the body?"Rita launched, the quill making an about turn towards Fred. "We just got here—did you say _The Dark Mark—"_

"Over the Astronomy Tower, Yes, that's what they say," she looked over Fred again and seemed to realize there was no story from him. She turned back to pepper Rosemerta with a few new questions.

" _Come to the school at once. Bill's been attacked."_

The mark went off when someone died. Had his parents tried to soften the blow and tell them when they were together? When they were a family despite one of the sons falling?

Or was it someone else? Had another member of the Order died while defending Hogwarts? Or had it been a student?

 _Was it Hermione who been attacked?_

His insides seemed to tense and he knew in that moment exactly how Fleur felt. There wasn't air he could breath. His lungs seemed to have closed and the air suddenly felt like it had been replaced with this thick, dense fog that was trying to trap him where he stood, his own personal dementor.

 _What if it was Hermione_? She would have been in the thick of it, throwing curses left and right in a battle. She was Harry's friend, probably a best friend. A Muggleborn who had a bounty on her head just as much as Harry did.

" _Come to the school at once. Bill's been attacked."_

 _But Hermione could have been too_.

"Fred, come on," George said, calling him back to reality. "Come on, they've sent a carriage."

The three of them got in the carriage in what must have been one of the most somber rides to the castle as the invisible horses plodded along. Fleur was sitting at full attention in regal beauty. As though this was all just an exercise in fortitude and she meant see it through with flying marks. Fred sat turning his attention to the front, trying to identify anything that would have disrupt the night sky. He couldn't see the mark, but whose to say it hadn't been there.

He was trying to imagine what would happen if Bill died. Fleur would probably return to France heartbroken without her Husband. He wondered if Mum would be gentle and love Fleur now in grief and also find comfort in knowing her son died before he could make what _she_ considered the biggest mistake of his life. _No, your mum's not that heartless._ But both Mumand Fleur would be heart broken, there was no doubting that.

The dense fog in his lungs seemed to be crawling in his veins, setting a chill he couldn't shake. _The mark—perhaps she—_

If Hermione died—he tried to think what would ensue, but as soon as the thought came to his mind everything seemed to stop and hinge on those three words— _if Hermione died._

Harry would clam up. He did that when their Dad almost died, he most certainly would do that if something happened to Hermione. He'd probably clam up so tightly it would only be with Dumbledore's help he would open up again, and even then for the rest of his life, he'd swear it was his fault that Hermione hadn't made it. Ron—he wasn't sure what their relationship was post Lavender, but he wouldn't be surprised if his idiot brother somehow blamed Harry—

Because Fred would.

Fred knew it wouldn't be Harry's _direct_ fault if she died, but he would feel like it was. At first. The only reason she was there was because she was Harry's friend. And Harry had led her to the choice long ago, the choice of sitting on the sidelines or being in the fire, and Hermione loved to dance in the flames.

But if she was dead, there would be more than unanswered questions between her friends—especially when McGonagall made her way to Essex to tell Mr and Mrs Granger of their daughter's untimely death. In that moment when she knocked on the door and wasn't greeted by Mrs Granger, but a neighbor picking up her milk on the next house over's doorstep, asking her if McGonagall had bought the old Granger House.

" _No, I was hoping to see Mrs Granger, I had news of Hermione's scholarship,_ " she'd say, or some ridiculous lie like that.

" _You best hire a PI—Mr and Mrs Granger moved months ago in the dead of the night_ ," the neighbor would answer, before rambling about how she didn't know Hermione was still in the country, she assumed she had gone on with her parents.

 _Then,_ in that moment, McGonagall and the rest of them would know the lengths Hermione had gone to in order to keep her parents safe.

Everyone would find out that Hermione had modified her parent's memories and sent them away. _Why else would no one come to take her body home to be buried? When did she do it?_ They'd ask. _How long had she kept this a secret? Did she let anyone know what had caused her to take matters into her own hands?_

And what would be kinder? To leave them be, or go and find Mr and Mrs Granger , restore their memories only to let them know their daughter-their brave, beautiful, fierce daughter- who loved them enough to send them away, had died because no one had been there to protect her?

 _What would happen to Hermione—_ would they bury her on a hill that guarded Hogwarts? Fred loved those hills, but the thought of being left there, always watching but never being at the school—with those she loved—he wouldn't let that happen. He'd take her home. Some place where she wouldn't be lonely. Somewhere her friends would be able to visit her. Somewhere where, in a future time, everyone would come to see her and say thank you for what she did. Somewhere she'd find rest.

 _But would they let you? What would they say? They don't even know you're a couple—_

That was another thing that picked at his mind as they traveled to the school. What would happen if Hermione died and no one knew about _them?_ That was selfish, Fred knew that. It was more _What would happen to Fred if Hermione died_ than anything he had thought of yet, but the thought wouldn't leave him now.

He wouldn't be able to grief openly.

Not around everyone. George, Ginny—Bill if he was still alive—they would understand, but would other people believe them when they whispered excuses of " _His Girlfriend was murdered—" "He and Hermione were together before she died—"_

People would looked surprised, maybe taken aback and ask again, " Hermione Granger? And Fred Weasley? Where did you get that idea? Are you under a confounding charm?"

What would happen to his work after she died? He had been able to make jokes long before she had ever came to his attention. But she had been inspiration to his work on the radio, on the projects with George and Remus—surely if she died, that would be effected. He would be effected. His work would suffer. Maybe not long term but for a dangerous while. Would they be able to keep the shop running with one twin? Would he have to avoid the groups of people that would queue up to offer him empty condolences in the trite phrases of _"She wouldn't want you to be like this...","You didn't know her long enough to have it mess you up this much...", "She'd want you to be happy...", "You doing ok Freddie?"_

Would he find solace in the bottle? She'd hate him if he did —but she wouldn't be there to help him put together the new question of what do you do when you haven't been able to say good bye?

He didn't know when he had given her so much power over his life. He had felt like she was a breath of wind that seemed to stir him towards the imagined possibilities. But in this moment she seemed to be a tornado that threatened to rip his world apart and expose him to the real storm that surrounded them all. As the carriage reached the front doors, he was almost convinced the patronus had said " _Come to the school at once, Hermione's been attacked."_

But it hadn't.

It had said _Bill_ had been attacked.

And now he was walking up the front steps, his arm around his Brother's Bride as George held her hand, still running scenarios where _Hermione_ was at deaths door, not his older brother. The thought that Bill, who had been able to get out of scraps in Egypt, who wandered the old Vaults of Gringotts—the thought that he was in the Hospital Wing and not whistling a song off key with two broom sticks over his shoulder coming to get Fleur— _he can't be dead._ He refused to believe that.

"It's going to be ok Fleur, just you wait," George said in feigned optimism, "Bill was attacked by a booby trap in a tomb once, came out right as rain—might be double jointed every now and then but even that's not to bad."

" _Oui,"_ Fleur said still looking at the doors in front of her. Her french accent had gotten thicker since they left the shop. Her hands seemed to tighten around the brothers and it was becoming clear to him she was trying to find comfort in that as the unknown of what she'd find upstairs.

They creaked open the doors and found rubies scattered on the floor like drops of blood. A few Hufflepuffs had come as far as the doorway from the kitchens to the entryway to see what was going on, but their view was blocked by the ghosts who seemed to be chiding them to go back to their dormitories as a mysterious noise—a bird singing, if possible crying—outside echoed through the halls.

Nearly Headless Nick appeared at their side as they stood frozen in the trance.

"Ah—Weasleys, very good to see you, very good," Nick nodded, as though he was trying to put a brave face on for what tragedy had obviously unfolded, "Very good."

It was anything but _Very Good._

"Hullo Nick, we need to get up to the Hospital Wing—" George started, still keeping a protective arm around Fleur.

"Yes, the Headmistress asked that I wait for you and your parents arrival," Nick said uneasily.

 _Headmistress—_

"Hang on there Nick—Headmistress?" Fred asked, "Has Dumbledore taken to curling his beard?"

The painting behind the three of the burst into tears and the occupants fled to a friend three frames over. Nick had crossed himself when Fred said Dumbeldore's name.

Obviously, something was very wrong.

Fred stood straighter, and he looked at George over Fleur's head. Maybe his twin knew it before he did. It was becoming clear Bill was not the only victim of what happened tonight. And if what he _thought_ had happened had _actually_ happened, Bills injury wasn't the worst to have taken place.

"I regret to inform you that Headmaster Dumbledore has joined the pantheon of the ages this evening," Nick said his head wobbling to and fro as he snapped a bow. What little color had been in Fleurs face fled as she shuttered a "No" and leaned on the two brothers. He had to look down to make sure the floor was still there, he needed some logical explanation why it felt he was falling. "No—'e can't be—"

George was able to form his words first. "How—Nick, what happened, how did Dumbledore die?"

"That Cur Snape, he was a turn coat—he reverted to his past ways and killed the Headmaster atop the Tower," Nick spat, clouds forming under his cheeks in a ghostly rage.

The words seemed to echo in his head. He could hear them but they didn't seem to have any meaning. Fred had never cared for Snape. He was always the Professor that seemed to cooridnate detentions with Quidditch Practice. He knew quite well Harry thought he was evil and he supposed he was-but never had the thought crossed Fred's mind that Snape would actually- that he could actually-

 _Dumbledore is a better wizard how could he have-_

"Snape—Snape killed Dumbledore?" George asked, his voice having a slight tremble to it, "Snape killed—"

"Nick can we go up to the hospital?" Fred interrupted, trying to pull them back. "Please, We know the way—Bill—we need to see—"

 _If Snape betrayed Dumbledore, whose to say he didn't let some of the students get it too? He never cared for any of their lot—_

"Obviously. Your brother yes—and your other brother—and sister—Oh they're fine," he read the three panicked faces. What ever sense of comfort he hoped to offer was lost in his transparency."Don't worry their quite alright. As are the usual suspects. Yes—perhaps its best for the three of you to get up there—before—"

A gust of wind swept through the hall as the great oak doors suddenly swung open, revealing his parents amidst the darkness.

His mother seemed to have a mad look in her eyes. Like she wasn't to be questioned, she wasn't to be trifled with. One of her children was hurt and come hell or high water, Molly Weasley was going to take care of them best she could, God granting mercy on the fools that came between her and her child.

Nick turned around after steadying himself from the wind. "Ah—young Miss Prewett—"

His mother didn't acknowledge Nick. She saw the three of them and Fred could see her relax ever so slightly, a momentary reprieve. Although a second glance at Fleur made seemed to have killed that reprieve almost as soon as it had been granted and she marched through Nick and up the door.

"Come along you three—upstairs," his father said, his voice heavy. His mum already eight paces in front of them.

The four of them filed in tow behind her, trying to catch up. "Dad, what happened?" George asked as they headed to the stairs and started climbing the array of switchbacks that lead to the Hospital Wing. "We heard that—"

"Your mother and I had just gone to bed when we got Minerva's Patronus," he said, swearing as he failed to skip the invisible step. As Fred paused to help him up him up, Fleur took advantage of neither Fred or George supporting her and seemed now to be racing after Mum in an attempt to get to the Infirmary before her.

"And nothing other than Bill had been attacked?" Fred asked, "Didn't say what happened—didn't say" _That Dumbledore's dead? That there had been a murder? That Snape had killed Dumbledore?_

"She said that we were at Hogwarts, so I've told your mother it means it can't be to bad. Anything serious would be meeting at St Mungos."

"How did she take that?" George asked with a shadow of a smirk as he glanced back to Fred.

"She proceeded to list every time anyone in the Weasley or Potter house has ended up in the Hospital Wing. Apparently it's more frequent a destination than I remember it being when I was a student." Dad said, shaking his head, exhaustion visible in every line of his face. "I hope Dumbledore can fix this—what ever it is, if any man can set it right it's him."

"Dad—people were saying there had been an accident—that Dumbledore's dead," Fred said, trying to gauge a response from his father. "They're saying that S—"

Dad just shook his head more vigorously, " Rita Skeeter was going on about that when we Floo'd into the Three Broomsticks. I think it's just a story. Way I see it, we'd know if Albus was gone. We'd have to know. Wise man like him would have had something trigger if he'd had left, something to let us know first—to prepare—"

George turned and looked at Fred, and Fred looked at the back of his dad's head. Was it possible? Was this all a rouse and Dumbledore would be waiting in the infirmary? Maybe Nick was wrong—

The stairs to the infirmary were ever closer. They were almost to the landing now, but Fred was still at a loss of what, or _who_ they'd find once they got there. Best case scenario, they'd go in and see Bill, Dumbledore would be there to fix them all while Snape handed off a Healing Potion to Madam Pomfrey. He'd see Hermione right as rain, he'd come close to putting Ron back in the Infirmary if he made any objection to him kissing Hermione and that would be the end of it.

But it wasn't.

His Mother and Fleur had just passed through the door when the three of them finally caught up. He could see Neville Longbottom passed out, a bandage around his head and a cut below his eye. Lupin, Tonks and Luna had their backs to them, creating a wall that blocked them from the body on the last bed on the left.

But for a moment, that didn't matter because, sandwiched between Ron and Ginny, her hair disheveled , he could see _her._

She was alright. He couldn't see anything on her that would suggest the otherwise. Except her face. It was ghostly white. Her expressions sharp. Her eyes cold—not empty, but in a state of terror. As though she was going through her own personal hell in that moment.

" _Oh Bill—"_ his mother cried, reaching the foot of the bed, her hands flying to her mouth as Fleur looked on, her eyes wide but her face not betraying any thought or inclination to run away.

"Who—who did this to him?" his father asked as Fred scanned Bills face. It was red, raw, with signs of Madam Pomfrey's quick wand work trying to seal some of the scars. Although, Fred noted, it looked like the scars didn't want to be sealed. It was like a zipper that had come together but was longing to burst apart again.

"It was Greyback, Arthur," Professor McGonagall said, clutching the bed post that seemed to be the only thing supporting her on this hellish evening, "We found him in the corridor adjacent to the tower. They got him as they ascended the tower."

" Greyback attacked him?" his father's voice croaked, turning to Professor McGonagall, "But he hadn't transformed? It—It's not the full moon, I looked when we rode up to the castle. What does that mean?" he turned from Professor McGonagall to his son. "—What will happen to Bill?"

"We don't know yet," Professor McGonagall said weakly, looking to Lupin the same way Professors looked to Hermione when no one was answering questions.

"There will be some contamination Arthur," Lupin sighed, giving McGonagall a reprieve. "Its an odd case, possibly unique—we don't' know what his behaviours might be when he wakes up. He could be—" he paused trying to find the word less likely to give his parents, "—different."

His mother had somehow taken the vile smelling ointment Madam Pomfrey had been applying to Bill's face. "And Dumbledore? Minerva—is it true—is he really?"

The guard at Bills bed all seemed answer the question for McGonagall. Ron and Ginny looked to Harry. Harry lifted his head and looked at Mr Weasley. Hermione looked to Fred and nodded her head, her eyes brimming with tears.

He knew what her patronus would have said. _Come to the castle at once. Dumbledore's Dead._

"Dumbledore's gone," his father whispered. "He's gone and we—" Fred didn't know what his father meant to say. He looked down at his son in the bed and all confidence he had earlier that Dumbledore would be able to set this right—it was all gone. And he was left with himself doing a quick inventory of his families needs and how _he_ could try and fix this.

" How did this happen? Who—"

"Snape did it," Harry said. Fred noticed this was the first time he had said anything, and soon he was launching into a story about leaving the castle with Dumbledore to search for something only to return and find Death Eaters climbing up the tower and the disarmed Dumbledore falling to the grounds below at the hand of Severus Snape.

With each turn in the story, Fred turned to look at Hermione, to see if he could register where she was in the story. Her eyes looked tired, but her hands and arms were clean, unlike Ron and Neville who looked like they had been closer to the fighting. They must have already discussed this with Remus and McGonagall, as both of them seemed to wander in the second retelling. Fred noticed how Remus' seemed to keep his eyes on Bill while Fred couldn't help but notice Tonks' eyes hadn't left Remus' face.

As Harry's story came to an end, Bill moaned in his bed. His mother started to hush them, and cradling Bill's pillow she began to administer the salve again, moping out the rivers carved on her son's face. Her hand slipped and she nearly shoved Bill in the face. This seemed to have been the final straw for his mother who started to cry, "It doesn't matter how he looks… It's not really that important—"

If it had been a different occasion, Fred might have leaned over to Ron and say something like "That's what mum said the day you were born" but he held it back.

"But he was a very handsome little b-boy, always very handsome, and he was going to be married!" his mother said, as if it was an after thought.

Fleur had finally found her words.

"And what do you mean by zat?" Fleur asked, snapping out of her fright and looking at Mum as though the rest of them weren't in the room. "What do you mean, 'e was _going_ to be married."

Fred's eyes darted from Hermione to George with rising alarm. Maybe there would be a fatality in the Weasley clan tonight after all.

His mother stopped her nursing and gave Fleur the same dirty look she had given his dad. "Well—I just supposed—"

"Do you 'onestly theenk, because of these bites, these scars—," Fleur looked down on them briefly and then turned away, "Do you think these will make it where Bill will not love me?"

His mother look startled, "You heard Remus. Bill is going to be different now—I don't know if—"

"He will not be different to me," she shrilled. Fred was again reminded of the Veelas he saw at the World Cup all those years ago, when they had been cheering for Bulgaria and the mood grew dim. She was great and terrible. And she wasn't done yet. "It will take more zan being a werewolf for Bill to stop loving me!"

Fred noticed a smile starting to curl on Hermione's lips. He wondered if she had gone mad too or perhaps Dumbledore's death had changed her inclinations towards homicide, as the look on George and his father's face was one preparing for the next death to occur.

"Yes I'm sure—but _dear_ ," his mother continued on, regaining some of her lost composure she stood taller, hoping to regain some of her lost ground, "Given how he looks I just meant—"

"You though I would not weesh to marry him?" Fleur asked coldy, her voice dripping with new found rage, "Or pe'rehaps you 'oped? What do I care how 'e looks? I am good looking enough for both of us," she said firmly and triumphant. "All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! Zhat 'e is a 'ero" Fleurs eyes darted to the cloth in Molly's hand, "Let me zee zhat. I am his wife. I will take care of him." and she defiantly took the ointment from his mother's hand.

Fred could feel George shift, as though he was thinking the same thing Fred was: someone needed to get between their mum and Fleur. But what happened next surprised them both. Mum stood behind Fleur and gently put her hand on her shoulder. As if she too was unsure of what she was doing as well.

"I'm not sure if Bill told you about my Auntie Muriel—she's has a beautiful goblin made tiara. I'm sure I could persuade her to lend it to you for the wedding. She's quite fond of Bill—it would look lovely with your hair."

"Thank you," Fleur replied, the steal of her voice starting to slip. She stopped dabbing Bill's forehead and looked at his mother, "I am sure zat will be lovely."

She choked on the last word and before anyone in the room could explain it, his mum was hugging Fleur like she was Ginny, or any of them. He turned an eye to Hermione who seemed the least surprised of all in the room. That was unexpected—but what happened next was even more unexpected—

"You see, it doesn't matter!" Tonks said, looking up at Lupin while everyone who had been watching Mum and Fleur now looked up in surprise. _All expect Hermione_ —

"He's been bitten but she still wants to marry him. She still loves him Remus!"

Fred went back to Christmas when he had delivered his first letter to Remus. Tonks had been there. He was sure there were other times when Tonks had shown up or been brought up—he had always thought it had been in passing but maybe, just maybe there was something else to it.

And obviously there was.

Remus was stone like with all the attention on him as he told Tonks it was different. That Bill wouldn't be a werewolf. That he'd still have a means to support Fleur, where as _he_ was too old, too poor, too dangerous—

He registered the people surrounding Bill, their expressions and their words. George was playing Tonks' advocate. Ginny and Ron were again exchanging glances as Harry looked like this was the first time a secret romance had been discovered.

But again, Hermione's reaction hadn't been phased. And wasn't as Hagrid came in, sniffling and telling McGonagall the Headmaster's Body had been moved, and that the Ministry was on its way.

 _You only have this window. Go now,_ he told himself. "Should we get these ones back to Gryffindor Tower before the Ministry gets here? Scrimgeour's no Fudge, but I wouldn't be surprised if they get pulled in for an interrogation," Fred asked.

"Longbottom will need to stay. But he's right—the rest of you ought to head back to your Dormitory—expect you Potter, I'd like a word before you turn in for the night." McGonagall said. She turned her attentions to his parents, " Molly, Arthur, you and your family can stay here tonight if you'd like. Or I have the cottage in Hogsmead if you'd like something more long term. I'll come back here after I meet with the Ministry."

His father nodded, as he hugged Ginny. "Fred, you and George good to take them?"

"We live there Mum. Ginny, Hermione and I can go ourselves," Ron started, his ears starting to deepen in their embarrassed hues.

"Mind your Mother Ron," Dad quipped. It looked as though he had aged ten years in the last hour. "We need to be on guard. We—"

"Come on Ron, lets go you can do your ickle Prefect short cuts," George interrupted before their father could launch on what Post-Dumbledore security entailed. Fred noticed his twin wink as he steered his brother towards the door, Ginny quickly coming to the spot next to Ron's side. As they shuffled into the corridor and down the stairs, Fred could hear Ron complain about how Hermione would know the Prefect short cuts better than him and perhaps she could come up and lead the way.

"Prefects don't have short cuts, you're going the right way," Hermione said from the back next to Fred, waiting for Ron to turn around.

Once Ron's back was turned, Fred felt her hand slip into his and their foot steps slowed, creating a distance between them and the other three Weasleys.

"Are you ok?" Fred whispered, squeezing her hand as though he needed to make sure she was really there. "When we got Dad's patronus I knew Bill had been attacked but I started to worry about you and—"

She gripped his hand now with all she had and Fred slowed his pace again. There was an empty classroom coming up. He remained quite until they reached it, the others already turning the corner.

The air was stale. There wasn't a full moon out, but the moon beams were leaking through the window giving a dim outline of their surroundings. With a wave of his wand, fireflies flew up like stars above them.

In any other situation, this would be exciting. The two of them sneaking around the castle, tucked a way in an abandoned class room. Fireflies mimicking he outdoors where he'd rather they be.

But Dumbledore was dead. _Snape_ had killed Dumbledore. And Hermione was holding together by the skin of her teeth. He could see that now. Whatever farce she had held in the Hospital it was gone. The tears had started to fall and she kept trying to wipe them away discreetly.

"Let me ask you again, this time properly," he stood in front of her, looking over her face again to see if there was something he had missed. He couldn't see anything physically wrong. Snape hadn't laid a hand of her, neither had the Death Eaters that had come in. Her face was still smooth, not carved beyond recognition like his brothers. In that moment, she never before seemed more beautiful to him.

"Are you o—" She flung her arms around him before he could finish the thought and started to sob, deep, wrenching, uncharacteristic to Hermione sobs. Worse than when she had sent away her parents. He stood there, leaning against the teacher's desk and holding her close, rubbing circles along her back like he had seen his mother due just moments earlier to Fleur. "There—it's ok—it's alright," he whispered into her hair.

"But it's not," Hermione cried, pulling away from his shoulder and looking up at Fred, her face was far from smooth now, instead twisted with hot, angry tears. "Its not alright—things will never be the same—it's going to be different. Everything's going to be different. _Everything is different._ "

"Not everything is going to be different,"Fred said tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "I've got you," he said, rocking them back and forth. "And you've got me," He said with a timid smile, "I can't promise everything will be ok, but you've got me. And I won't let anything happen to you Hermione," he promised, kissing the top of her head.

In most situations that might have worked, but this made her cry harder. And Fred tucked her under his arm and pulled her close to let her cry into the shirt. A cascade of warm tears settling on his heart.

* * *

AN:

First off, I was afraid my computer crashed this morning which is the reason for a mid week update.

Secondly a disclaimer: a good chunk of Mrs Weasley and Fleur is taken straight from HBP. Didn't want to rob Fleur of that moment.

Third, I know, I said only one more chapter at Hogwarts last time. And here we are...

When I originally sat down to write this chapter, I had my outline and a plan. And then I hit Fred's Stream of Consciousness...which trust me, was cut down quite a bit between the original rewrite and the cutting room floor. I just had this moment where I wondered: What do you do if you find out the person you love most in the world is dead? and I started having a panic attack for the poor man...a very long drawn out, but exhilarating to think of panic attack which I enjoyed writing. I feel like I got to know Fred that much more...

Also, this chapter is entirely Fred's POV so you know what that means...

Next Chapter (which really is part two of this. It was nearly 12k words and I couldn't do that...) will be a lot more Hermione POV. And what we've noticed in Fred and Hermione's relationship, Fred takes a step forward, Hermione takes two back. Now that her sole confidant is gone, Hermione has to transition from who she is to who she used to be: War Weathered, Battle Ready Hermione. She also will be reviewing her fixed points, what she's done, and how long Fred can fit in to the road she must now follow.

Buckle up kiddos, next chapter we're leaving Hogwarts and we're not going to be coming back until the walls come falling down.

Be kind to one another. Next chapter will be up soon.

Xx-KH


	32. Falling Shadows

Falling Shadows

* * *

What had been sunlit days had been replaced with an eerie walking daze.

Hermione woke up the morning after Dumbledore's Murder to the muffled cries of Lavender Brown who had thrown the door open and looked out her window down at the ground to see the carriage take Parvati and Padme home with their parents.

She had forgotten somethings though about these days. Chaos and uncertainty had landed in the castle the moment Snape threw Dumbledore from the top of the tower. Parvati and Padme weren't the first, nor where they the last to disappear before Breakfast or get tucked away before the elves brought dessert that evening. . The day after the murder, the Owl Post were littered with family owls with quickly written letters discussing a hushed, still-unknown-to-them future.

By the end of the week, a few of the younger students asked Hermione in the Common Room before they went to bed if it was true there was a wizarding school in the Americas and if it would be better to wade out the war there or go abroad to France.

"It'll be fine," she wanted to say, but the words never really seemed to form in her mouth. She tried to list some pros and cons about each school but always concluded with "Don't worry, Hogwarts will be whole again someday."

She just couldn't tell them what would happen before they reached that someday.

While whispers continued in some of the houses over whether to fight or fight, Hermione had been surprised by the daze that seemed to even have fallen on Slytherin House in the days following the murder. When they came up to the Dining Room and saw Professor Slughorn sitting in their former heads spot it seemed to confirm the rumors they had heard. For some it was a spell of shock. They had obviously been oblivious to the fact Snape was a sneak. Perhaps, Hermione supposed, they were blinded by house Loyalty to him. His betrayal, as well as the flight of Draco Malfoy seemed to cast a spell of denial and doubt among some of Slytherin House. In Draco's absence, Pansy Parkinson seemed to be trying to fill in for Draco among Slytherin , but the rule of the Queen Regent was short lived as neither Crabbe or Goyle seemed to follow her direction.

Time would rush in a blur and then it would slow again. Ministry Officials would file up and down the stairs to meet with McGonagall, Percy passing one afternoon without seeing her, Ron and Harry on the landing. Hermione thought she had seen Percy standing outside the Hospital Wing when she went to visit Fleur and Bill but he never seemed to get closer than a foot outside the door. Hermione knew he wasn't going to go in, but a part of her wished he did. Start the reconciliation sooner rather than later—then if something happened, if she failed, Molly Weasley would get a year of her family together again rather than a few short lived hours.

That had all been in the last week. The preparations had been made and she had come down from the castle with the rest of the school to the lake shore to attend Dumbledore's Funeral. She had sat sandwiched between Ron and Neville. In the morning sun as the mermaids sang their haunting shrill of a song, Hermione sat straight and tall, steeling herself so no tears betrayed her.

Last time she had cried. She had remembered the tears that fell in her lap. How Ron had put his arm around her and held her as she cried. It was in that moment she had realized what was going to be done. If truth was to be told, Hermione had been thinking about wiping her parents memories and sending them abroad since the poor Muggle Family had been attacked at the Quidditch World Cup. It was the last time, when Dumbledore died, Hermione determined that plan must be put in action for their sakes. If Dumbledore was still alive maybe she would have kept them here. Or at the very least, asked him to take care of the memories for her.

This time, her grief at the sorrow was different. This time she had gotten to say good-bye. What more, she had had almost a year extra time to prepare for the moment, for Dumbledore's departure. In some ways she wondered if they had squandered that time, with her arguments, her temper, the anger she hadn't realized she carried towards him from last time.

 _He knew what he was doing. He died believing he was putting Harry on the right path—the path that would lead to the horcruxes being destroyed. He died this time knowing that you had a thorough knowledge of the horcruxes. If anything,_ she told herself, _he died knowing you would see Harry through it all._

 _It doesn't make it any easier though,_ she thought, watching the scene unfolding around her. The Centaurs had just launched their arrows. She leaned forward slightly and turned left, looking past Ron to see Harry talking to Ginny, and she knew, _oh how she knew—_ what he was doing right then in that moment.

He was saving Ginny.

She had spent this night a year ago staying up all night in Ginny's dorm packing her trunk when Ginny confided in what happened at the funeral, how Harry had ended things. She had been pretty good about it, she had admitted when she told Hermione, but when she retold the story she seemed to have lost some of that strong bravado the Weasley's always put off in matters of the heart. Retelling the break up seemed to make it real.

Hermione hadn't know Harry was going to do this. So off guard, she listened to Harry's reasoning and she tried to support them, until she believed Harry had done the right thing. It didn't stop her for feeling heartbroken for her friend. Hermione at one point stopped packing and just walked over to hug Ginny until the tears came.

" _He's doing this for you Gin. He wants to keep you alive and—and you know more than anyone how Voldemort will use people close to him. If he knew about the two of you—"_

" _It doesn't make it any easier," Ginny had said, wiping a stray tear. "A heart broken for a noble reason still hurts."_

Last time, Hermione had just dismissed those words, and tried to comfort her friend.

This time, the words seemed to thunder in her head and she wondered if she too should follow Harry's example.

The spell of silence broke and the funeral ended. Some people were walking towards the marble tomb with flowers and other little trinkets to leave at the Headmaster's grave. She turned around, and that's when she saw _him._ Fred standing next to George, the two of them in matching Black Dragon skin jackets.

" _A heart broken for a noble reason still hurts."_

"Did you see where Harry went?" Ron asked, calling her out of her thoughts. Hermione turned and looked at him, "He uh—I think I saw him walking with the Minister. Scrimgeour probably thought this would be an easy place to talk to Harry. He has to know that he's been dodging him."

Ron tried to crank his head through the crowds but stopped and shook his head, "Good to know he's not as thick as Fudge," he offered. He turned to look at her, "Do you—Do you have any ideas what he's going to do next? He's been pretty quiet the last few days. At first I thought it was just because Dumbledore's died, but I almost think he's planning on doing something."

She folded her arms and looked back at the grave. " I think he's going to leave." She said simply, "I think he's going to leave Hogwarts and pick up where Dumbledore left off. He's going to keep looking for the Horcruxes. Especially now that we know the locket was a fake."

"You think he'll _leave_?" Ron asked flabbergasted. "But we have another year—"

"A lot of people can die in a year,"Hermione shrugged. "He's going to leave to make sure no one dies because he's hiding in a school. And—" she took in a breath and let it go as though she was letting go of everything she held dear with that breath "—and we're going with him."

"You're leaving school—are you barking?"he asked as though he had been hit by a bludger. Then he looked at her as though _she_ had been the victim of the bludger attack. "Hermione—you love school—"

"It doesn't matter. Harry has to get the horcruxes, and he's going to need us to do it," she said matter-of-factly. "Come on Ron, You know we have to go with him."

He started to say something and then he stopped, and nodded, "You're sure about this?"

"I'm sure about Harry," she answered automatically, "I'm sure Harry's the one that can end this. And I—" she looked at Dumbledore's marble tomb, "—I know Dumbledore was sure about Harry too. If we can do this—get the horcruxes and kill Voldemort—that means this, all of this—" her hands motioned the now empty seats and dissipating crowd, "Won't be a common occurrence. Their won't be deaths every June, or people trying to put their worlds back together when walls crash down—"

Ron put his hand on her shoulder and she nearly gave herself whiplash turning her head to face him. "I'm sure about you. And if you say we can do this, we can" he answered. "Come on, lets go tell him. It looks like he's done with the Minister."

They started walking towards Harry and she noted that one of he black dragon skin jackets had been stealing glances of her and Ron. And if she had paid closer attention, she might have noticed their ears flushing ever so slightly.

* * *

((*))

* * *

An hour later, she was standing next to Dumbledore's tomb.

Hermione and Ron had just told Harry hours ago that they wouldn't be leaving him to fight Voldemort alone—that they would be going with him to hunt the Horcruxes. Harry had accepted it just as he had last time—nobly trying to break up with his friends the same way he had just broken up with Ginny.

But unlike with Ginny, he had relented, and disappeared back to the castle with Ron. They were talking about going to the kitchen, having a final send off in the Gryffindor Tower before they spent the night packing for tomorrows train.

She had said she'd be up there soon enough, she just wanted to be alone on the grounds for a little while longer.

Ron had asked if she was alright—if the funeral had upset her. It was one of those attentive moments he had. But she just smiled, shaking her head and saying she simply needed to say goodbye to Hogwarts and Dumbledore.

He didn't seem to buy her excuse, but he didn't press it either. He nodded and disappeared with Harry back to the castle as Hermione walked down the aisle of empty chairs to the Marble Tomb of Albus Dumbledore.

"I wish I had asked you the question I'm struggling with right now," Hermione said to the grave. It was silly, she thought, that she had spent her last conversation with Dumbledore on the question " _How do you say good-bye?_ " She knew what Dumbledore's death would bring, and she hadn't thought of the logical path—the path Harry had thought with Ginny. She wondered if she would feel any better if she followed suit and break up with Fred—would that be enough to keep him safe? That's why Harry had broken up with Ginny—

 _If people knew about you and Fred, would they target him?_ She wondered. She knew the answer. A teeny, tiny shred of who she used to be knew the answer and seemed to be prodding it more and more. And it sent chills up and down her back.

They would.

She had sent her parents away for that reason. If they knew about Fred, there wasn't a shadow of doubt in her mind that they would come after him. One, because she cared for him, probably more so because he was a blood traitor and would become a leader in the resistance because of it. Or because of her.

Regardless, Fred Weasley would appear as though one of the Death Eater's worst nightmare. A Pureblood, who went against tradition and principle, loving a Mudblood— who would fight and kill other purebloods who threatened his abominable relationship.

Perhaps in trying to save him she was damning him all the more.

"What do I do Dumbledore," Hermione asked as the wind tossed her hair and matted it high, "What do you think I should do?"

 _Dumbledore would be happy to know there was more love in this world,_ some one had said that—Remus? Was it Remus—no, Mr. Weasley—either this time or last time.

 _But how can love be happy if it can lead people to their deaths?_

"I think he'd say something about talking to yourself in public. Not a good sign," a familiar voice said, sneaking an arm around her waist, protection and warmth flooding through her as he did.

"Many people talk to themselves, its perfectly acceptable," she said looking up at Fred. She hadn't appreciated how good the dragon skin jacket looked on him when he stood so far away earlier this morning. Although she also thought it washed him out a bit— He looked pale against it.

She hadn't seen him since that night she had cried into his shirt. Mrs Weasley had said the twins were back running the store, trying to keep things normal while the wizarding world seemed to be on the brink of collapse.

She had been proud of him then, but had also had a moment of selfish greed where she wanted him to try and keep her in a sense of normality. A normality that had him in it. She wanted him to stay to chase away the demons she knew were coming.

 _You had thought that, and now you're thinking of breaking up with him. That's hardly normal Hermione,_ she chided herself.

"What are you thinking?" Fred asked, his gaze on the tomb now, not her. "I keep thinking that we have to do this on our own now and I—I can't shake that thought. I've tried and—we've done this before but it was just the DA and Umbridge—not us all against Voldemort—" he paused, catching himself. "But that's what I'm thinking. What are you thinking?"

She closed her eyes as she let the words leave her. "I'm thinking we should stop."

She could feel him take in a breath, and she knew he, like her, felt the world had just been torn from under them. His hand was still frozen around her. "Stop—stop what? Voldemort? I agree. Most ardently. Stop him dead."

 _A heart broken for noble reason still hurts._

"Fred— _we_ need to stop," she interrupted, putting unnecessary emphasis on _we._ "Let's be practical," Hermione said looking up at him and noticing how his eyes had become hard, like stone walls. "I'm not coming back to Hogwarts. Harry has a mission and I need to go with him—if people know we're together, then they'll come after you when I leave. And I—I won't be there to keep my promise."She searched his face for a sign that he heard what she was saying. That this was registering. That he understood.

But obviously he hadn't.

"What do you mean you're not coming back to Hogwarts. Hogwarts is—" his hand flew off her back and he turned to point at the building. "Hermione, Hogwarts is your home. And you're going to leave? Before you finish your education?"

"You know how rich this is coming from you, don't you?" she asked, raising her eyebrow. "I don't think you're in the position to play Academic Counselor here."

"That's different—I" he paused, looking around. There were only a few people left, and they were a few hundred yards a way. He lowered his voice, "I wasn't you. I wasn't born with an encyclopedia in my head and an essay in my heart. You were. And—"

"Books!" She started, "Cleverness," her voice now cracked. "Fred, there's more than that. There's—There's Friendship. And that's something Harry needs. Friends who are going to be loyal and help him. He needs me."

"And I need you!" Fred burst, both hands rushing to his head. He took a few steps away, closer to the lake than the grave. "Hermione. I need you, don't you see that? I need you too. I—" he turned around now and the sight of him rocked her. Chills racking through her like she had been thrown into the lake and brought to surface in the storm.

"I need to know your safe. I need to know that you're not going to be tortured, killed and become a name in the Evening Prophet," he turned back to her, his hands gripping her shoulders, trying to steady himself. "We're better together. I'm better when I'm with you, and if something happened..."

"I can't just leave him," Hermione quipped back, "Is that what you would have me do? Just stand there and wave 'Good Luck' as he and Ron goes off to God knows where—"

" _Ron's_ going too?" he asked, his eyes wide and his voice ripe with expression. " You expect me to just stand there and wave good luck as you, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Git-Who-Wants you goes off to God knows where—"

She huffed and looked at the grave. _Here you go Dumbledore, here's what you left me with,_ she thought even though she knew quite well this was her own doing, not his.

"Fred—we're his family. I'm their sister," she said, something she had to say to a Weasley before. Reading the look on his face, she could see Fred believed her just as much as Ron had long ago.

"I saw the way he was talking to you after the funeral Hermione," Fred argued, his arms folded. "Trust me, Ron doesn't put his hand on Ginny's shoulder when he's having a quality brother moment."

"You know I don't care for either of them like that—"

"Then go after your seventh year," he started, "McGonagall's going to be Headmistress next year, she'll keep you safe. Just stay one more year, sit for your exams and then you can skip off with Ron for the latest Harry Potter and the deadly attempt to save the world or whatever it is he'll call it."

She put her hands against her temple and closed her eyes. This wasn't going how she had hoped. To be fair, none of this year had gone as she had hoped. _You have to make him see Hermione—you have to let him know what's coming—_

"Fred—What if McGonagall isn't headmistress?"she asked, opening eyes. She took a step towards the chair in front of him and looked up with pleading eyes. "What if the Ministry falls and Voldemort takes control. Do you really think he'll let the Deputy Headmistress whose a member of the Order of the Phoenix stay in charge of Hogwarts?"

Fred didn't say anything so she kept going, this time taking his hand in hers.

"They'll replace her with someone whose loyal to the Death Eaters. Muggleborns will start disappearing. Some will be tortured, other's will be sent away—either to Death Eater's Basement or to Azkaban. But I know too much—" she smiled, keeping it tight to stop her voice from cracking. "—I, Know too much. I know Harry. I know about the Order. They'll want me for questioning. They'll want to know where he is, what he's doing—and they can't know that. They can never know what Dumbledore's left for us to do."

His dropped to his knee in front of her, his hand squeezing hers, "Well, we'll hide you then. I'll hide you. I'll—"

"They'll kill you Fred," her voice stayed even time. "If we stay together Fred, they'll come after you," she took her free hand and brushed it against his cheek, "If we stay together they'll find out and they'll come after you and—I can't do that to your mother. To George—I can't do that to you."

She could see in his eyes he was falling apart. Maybe not falling, but tearing himself apart. When did she get this power over him? When had he given that to her?

"What if they don't know?" Fred asked, his voice low and horse, his eyes looking at the ground and then to her. "What if we keep this secret—until the end of the war. No one knows except you and me."

"We can hardly do that, Ginny—Harry, George they'll all know. I'm pretty sure Bill and Charlie do to," she said with a shadow of a smile, "We were never good about keeping each other a secret."

"Oh they do—but, we could tell them we broke up. That you dumped me to focus on the war. Harry just did that to Ginny. It wouldn't be farfetched," Fred said, a hopeful smile now playing on his lips.

"You think they'll buy that?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The family will. George—he might be harder to bring around."

She laughed darkly, looking down, "Then maybe we keep George on our side." She looked at him, guilt settling. "Are you ok with this?" Her hand rested on his shoulder and in the summer sun, had it been any other day, another other place, any other _time_ —Hermione would have thought their last half hour had been nothing but a bad dream. He other hand brushed his hair lovingly; she knew she ought to stop him. The she needed to keep her reserve strong. But he was right—they were better together. Snape had forced her to say goodbye to Dumbledore, she wouldn't let Time make her say goodbye to Fred.

"Honestly," his voice was low, " Honestly I want nothing more than the world to know I love you. No matter how long or short we have left—but—" he looked at her "If this means I get to love you longer, then I'll take it."

* * *

((*))

* * *

Hermione had tried not to look longingly at the castle when they left that morning to go back to London.

She tried not to take her time loading up her trunk of her things. She tried not to get sentimental when Ginny came in to help her pack. They had a good cry when Ginny told her about Harry breaking up with her. Hermione wondered if now ought to be the moment she told Ginny that she had 'broken up' with Fred but she had stopped a head of herself- after all, she told herself, Ginny needed to have her full moment and she could have hers when she came to the Burrow for the wedding.

After Ginny went to bed, Hermione had crawled down and carved her name on the baseboard that ran under her four poster bed. So regardless of what happened, there would be proof that there once was a girl named Hermione Granger who belonged to Gryffindor House, who had once been happy and called the castle home.

Perhaps, when the war was over, she'd come back and erase the name with her wand. Or she'd add her and Fred's initials to it.

When she left Gryffindor Tower that morning, she tried once again to leave the wide-eyed school girl upstairs and come down the battle ready warrior she had been before. But it was a role she was struggling with, as she flipped through one of the restricted books Dumbledore had given her, the cover bewitched to look like a muggle classic.

"How soon do you think you'll be able to come to the Burrow?" Ron asked after they had been on the train for a few hours. "Sooner you come the sooner we can plan—"

"I'm going to do a few things with Mum and Dad first," Hermione lied, looking up from her book, smiling widly. "They—they know what's going on to some extent, Dad wants to do one of our usual Granger trips—kind of a last hurrah."

Ron nodded, and then started talking to Harry about possible hiding places for the horcruxes. She was grateful he hadn't been peppering her with questions or puppy eyes. She had worried he might take this opportunity to give her hell for disappearing with Fred on their way back to the Common Room the night Dumbledore died but Ginny had sworn for the umpteenth time last night Ron didn't notice until they were inside that she was gone, and even then they were only a few minutes behind them.

Hermione watched the countryside consumed in a green blur. It was only when the rain broke through the midlands that she felt the absolute loneliness of knowing her parents wouldn't be waiting for would be no Granger camping trips. There wouldn't be a trip to Brussels. No run away to Auntie Rose and Uncle John in Barcelona. None of the lies she had come up with over the last six months.

She would walk to the Essex Platform, wait for the train for a few minutes and then walk to the women's restroom and apparate to her house. She'd wait till later and then run to the store under a disillusionment charm, get a few things and get started on her preparations.

Just her, in that empty house.

 _But you won't be alone—_ Fred had told her so many times this term that he'd meet her at the train station. They had argued whether he'd take her to Essex or take her back to the shop, but he'd be there.

That is, until she left him at his Brother's wedding. Yesterday had made it obvious she wasn't going to be able to break up with him, she wasn't sure how he'd take to her suddenly disappearing as the Death Eaters crashed the wedding.

She found it funny he wasn't fond of the idea of her leaving, that he wanted her to go back to Hogwarts. He had made that perfectly clear. But he'd realize soon enough—and after that—

She remembered how he looked at her when they were in the Hospital Wing over Bill. It was as if he was waiting for something to swoop down and take her from him. As though he had expected to see her in the bed injured, not Bill.

"Hermione—come on, we're here," Harry said, nudging her, "Did you take one of those Daydream Fancies?" he asked with a smirk, "Fred make you a custom designed one?" he teased quietly as Ron lowered the overhangs.

"Shove off Potter," Hermione sighed, shaking her head and stretching. Crookshanks purred and also stretched, miming Hermione before jumping into Hermione's tote.

As they excited the Platform, Harry looked in the distance to the Dursleys who looked just as sour as Hermione remembered. The three of them were enveloped in Mrs Weasleys grasp while Mad Eye, Tonks and Remus kept a watchful guard.

"I'll see you soon," Harry said as Mad Eye summoned him to join him for a chat with his Aunt and Uncle, "Enjoy your summer," Hermione said weakly before hugging him.

"Have fun with Fred," Harry whispered and Hermione swat his head. Mrs Weasley looked appalled and Remus raised an eye brow. "Oh sorry, could have sworn there was a fly," Hermione said innocently.

He smirked and waved to both Hermione and Ron. Hermione did a double take of their entourage. Tonks. Remus. Mad Eye. Mr and Mrs Weasley—Bill and Fleur were absent—but so was Fred.

"Hermione where are your parents?" Mrs Weasley asked, Harry's absence turning all her attention towards her.

"Oh, they responded to my owl this morning—their secretary booked them all morning. I'm going to take the train down to Essex and I'll meet them there." She said, tugging at her tote over her shoulder and adjusting her trolley. "It leaves from Platform 4 in a few minutes, I best—"

"Don't be silly—with everything we've gone through let us take you ho—"

Before she could finish her phrase George arrived, running up the way, the maroon flaps of his work coat billowing in the wind. "Sorry I'm late, ready to go Hermione?"

 _You're not Fred._ "Go—"

"Essex!" George smiled, although after his sprint it looked more like a wince, "I talked to Sherrie and she said she could get me in at 3, so we ought to leave now eh?"

Mrs Weasley looked suspiciously between the two of them. "George—what are you talking about?"

"Oh, well—" he tried standing up straight, still panting from the run. "Fred and I had been working on a summer sweet line but we might have tried too many samples and I've developed a bit of a toothache. Told Hermione at the funeral and she suggest I set something up with her parents," he shrugged as though this was the only logical solution. "So we dusted off our Muggle Studies book and made an appointment. Since I'm the braver twin I'm going to go first and see if Fred will be able to stomach the Dimtists."

"Dentist, George," Hermione laughed. She could see Molly struggling to accept this. She looked at Hermione and her fifth son as though trying to decide what level of deception they were engaged in.

"I can make you a tooth salve," Mrs Weasley offered, George folded his arms, "No—No Mother. Dad has his ducks, I have my dentists. And I'm about to be late for it."

Mr Weasley seemed to be beaming in adoration of his son's muggle preferences and Mrs Weasley continued to search their faces for a sign of betrayal. Ginny had turned to have a conversation with Luna and was trying to rope Ron unsuccessfully into joining them but he was like his mother, trying to look at the scene and identify what was wrong with this picture.

 _Best not give him something to go with—_ Hermione turned to Ron and gave him a hug, like she had with Harry. "See you soon," she said as she tried to part. She tried not to notice he his arms lingering around her as she clumsily broke away.

"We'll see you soon enough then Hermione dear," Mrs Weasley smiled, watching with eagle eyes as Hermione and George walked down the platform.

"So you fancy dentists?"Hermione asked George once they had set a bit of distance between the remaining Weasleys.

"Not as much as my younger brother seems to fancy you," George said firmly, "Best nip that in the bud before Freddie see's."

"Not a word," Hermione said firmly, although she knew George was right. "Speaking of Fred, where is he?"

"Said he had to take care of some things at the shop, he'll send an owl and see if he can come over later," he answered, "Trust me, he wanted to come but didn't want to slip up and let the family in on it."

 _So he's going to try—_

His voice sounded a little testy when he said that, as though almost disapproving of her request. "You don't like how I'm trying to keep this secret, do you?"

"You should know by now, Weasley men are awful at secrets," George said, shaking his head and looking at Hermione kindly, "We don't like to keep them, and we don't like when their kept from us. I know your doing this to keep Ron from losing his temper, messing with Harry's whatever it is he's doing and whatever reasoning you gave Fred yesterday but I don't see where this ends well."

"You can say that again," Hermione mumbled under her breath.

She felt his arm go around her shoulders, "Don't worry Granger, I'll like you regardless of Ronnie's temper. But do try and be kind to Freddie. Truth be told, he's the creative twin and if you break his heart you might just break my business."

Hermione laughed, "Ever the sentimentalist you are."

"If you want sentimental you best look for a different family," George winked. "Come on, there's a broom closet up here we can apparate from."

"You're going to tell your brother you got me in a broom closet?" Hermione asked as she entered into the maintenance room.

"Of course, but the real question is _which_ brother I tell."

* * *

((*))

* * *

The apparated into the front bushes. The little flowers falling down on George's shoulders as though he was returning a conquering hero. "I apparated us right in the protective barrier, we should be good—" Hermione said as she stepped out and dusted off her knees.

She looked up at her childhood home and it felt like a stranger's house. "Thanks for taking me home. I'll let you come up with the horror story for your mum."

"Do you have any of those goodie bags? Fred and I were thinking about coming up with some trick floss," he said with a gleam in his eye.

"I think there might be some inside, come along," Hermione said as she waved her wand. She hadn't said the incantation but noticed it was a jar.

"George" she said and motioned to the door. "I didn't do that."

George's smile seemed to die and he nodded, taking out his wand. "Stay behind me, if I say run—go."

"Here let me— _Revelio—"_ and she felt it. The pulsing in her wand. Her eyes were wide and she turned to George, "Someone's in there."

"I mean it Hermione, if I tell you to leave you have to go. Apparate to the shop and let Fred know," George said but she shook her head, "Nice try Weasely, we're in this together" she said before walking into the house herself.

She smelt food coming from the kitchens. Something with oregano—and bread. Fresh Bread. If it wasn't for the fact that she was being lured to her death by bread sticks and a warm meal, Hermione would almost have thought her parents were home after all.

Perhaps the Death Eaters had adopted a new bait and lure technique. She looked at George and it was obvious he was having a similar thought. "Kitchen down the hall?" he asked and she nodded, "On your right."

He tip toed, wand extended before sneaking into the last room where the kitchen would be. Hermione followed until she heard the squabble and what sounded like clashing and sparks crackling. A crash of dishes and her grandmother's tea kettle sending a melody of discord across the house.

And then there was the thump. The Kind of thump that usually followed a body falling to the ground.

 _Not George—_

She heard a pop and ran to the doorway, convinced that George had just been killed and his murder apparated out of the house. How was she going to tell Molly—Fred—that George was dead because of her?

She burst into the room, wand raised and billowed, the first spell she could think of. " _Levicorpus."_

Fred Weasley was suddenly lifted up into the air as a smile broke across his face.

"Surprise!" he cheered, still smiling, "Did you come up with this spell?" his body curled and swayed a little as he tried to grasp the invisible hook that had him pined in the air. "Its rather good-We could use it. Something for the over 17s."

Hermione took in the full scene. There was a table set for two. Take out from some Italian place sat ready in her blue mothers dishes, and in front of her was Fred Weasley, blood rushing to his head which was almost as red as his hair, merrily complementing her wand work.

"You did this for me?" she asked, "Nearly gave me a heart attack thinking George was being murdered and—"

His face fell and brow furrowed. "Oh, set me right and then yell at me, I can't focus upside down."

She flipped her wand and he came crashing down. Crookshanks looked down on them from the chair bemused, flicking his tail

"Of all the tricks—" she muttered, helping him up to his feet, "That was—without a doubt"

"—Hermione, it was only a—"

She kissed him. Soundly. A sudden warmth filling her as her head pounded as though _she_ had been the one dangling in the air. His hand seemed to find its place in her hair, his thumb casually stroking a small circle behind her ear.

She knew somewhere in Diagon Alley, George was retelling the story to Lee, the two of them laughing and only imagining what Hermione was going to do Fred over this charade. She bet none of the scenarios ended with Hermione snogging Fred in her mothers kitchen, him lifting her on top of the counter top and she disheveling his collar before the two of them stopped and rested their foreheads against one another as they smiled like fools at one another.

"Welcome Home Hermione," Fred said, kissing her forehead as the afternoon sun split through the kitchen window, at last falling on Hermione's own several sunlit days.

* * *

AN: Surprise! 2 updates in as many weeks? Not shabby!

This was the 2nd half of Last Week's Chapter and... after nearly two years of writing... WE'RE OUT OF HOGWARTS (Oh Happy Day!).

So the break up... the most hesitant thing about this chapter, what I'm going to have nightmares over down the road is the "We need to stop"/Hermione breaking up with Fred. I honestly think that Hermione would have had this thought. That's why I put it in here-if she was in a relationship, I think our girl would worry the Death Eaters would try a Harry tactic on her. Our girl is smart and even on her best, most optimistic mindset would think "Hmm, I Bet the Death Eaters are going to try and make it difficult for everyone we leave behind" so to me its only natural Hermione would want to explore pulling a Potter and dumping a Weasley to save their lives. Just as its only Natural for Fred to throw a fit when he finds out Ron is coming...I'm excited to hear your thoughts about this...

Y'all, I cant begin to express how much your support means to me! Seriously, the reviews you give, your insights, etc. they are just what the doctor ordered somedays. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter...Work is starting to pick up with the holiday push. I'm going to try and get Chapter 33 out by the End of the Month, but we'll see.

Until next time, Raise a Glass to Freedom-KH


	33. Falling Surprises

AN: _399 Reviews to you Glen Co-Co? I saw the stat update in my email this morning and decided I had to push this out. Thank you for all the love and support y'all._

* * *

Falling Surprises

* * *

"Where did you get the idea for this?" Hermione asked after dinner. The lasagna had been tucked away into a container in the fridge. She and Fred stood next to the kitchen sink, the dishes rinsing themselves as large bubbles Fred had charmed rose from the steam. Merrily popping above their heads as they hit the ceiling.

"What—dinner?" he shrugged blowing a bubble higher over head before it popped against the light. "I wanted to surprise you," he answered, almost sheepishly. "I figured dinner would be a good surprise. Besides, if I had shown up on the platform I think you'd have to break up for real because the family would have known and I couldn't risk that."

She flicked her wand and a mound of soap suds flew to Fred's nose. When she looked up it looked as though he was sporting a bubbly mustache. It wasn't the handlebar Ron had made in Transfiguration, but one of those full ones that turned up right like in an Edwardian photograph.

He placed his hand to his wand in a moment a mountain of bubbles had rearranged themselves on Hermione's heads fashioned as a crown, interrupting her laugh. "Are you trying to make me a jester?" she asked looking into her reflection against the window pane.

"No, every court has its jester and that's me," he said firmly, tucking a hair behind her ear. "No, every court needs a queen, and mine is you," he said with a wink and quick bow. She caught him as he rose again, this time putting her arm around his neck as her other hand wiped away the bubble mustache, "I don't need a jester or a crown. I just need a you."

She could feel his lips press on her forehead and Hermione felt complete. In that moment it was as though the war had ended and she and Fred had entered into a domestic bliss where their only foe was dishes and soap, that there really wasn't any danger to be had. There were no hunts or horcruxes left to endure. No more hallows or heartaches. There was just the question over what time they should have their tea and tuck in for the night.

"I'd say we've snogged in the kitchen enough, shouldn't we give the rest of the house a try?" Fred said with a mischievous wink. "Come on, show me the rest of your house. You've seen every inch of the Burrow." His hand seemed to find hers as he motioned to the door,"I want to see the house that made you."

"It's not like the Burrow," she sighed, as they walked down the hallway. She looked at the photographs. When she had performed the charm on her parents memories, she had erased herself from them. Now where her grade school portraits had hung was a mosaic of photo backing. There were pictures of her parents in odd poses because, in another world, they had been posing with her. She finally found one of her parents when they were recently married at the ski lodge.

"That's mum and dad," she nodded her head to the photo. "Their first Christmas married. They're avid skiers, he had proposed at that lodge the Christmas before. We were just there-" she almost said last Christmas when she stopped herself. _We were just there two Christmases from now. In the future._

Fred had missed her fumble and instead focused the photo closely and then back at her. "You look a lot like your mum," he said with a smile, as he again looked at the photograph, now focusing on her dad, "Except you have your dad's smile."

"He has buck teeth too. Only he didn't have the courtesy of Draco Malfoy to magic them right," she sighed, rolling her eyes as they entered the sitting room. It was adjoined to the dining room next to the kitchen. A collection of family knicknacks Hermione had felt would be better kept in the house then sent to Australia. The Little China Figures her mum collected, now under a layer of dust in their cabinet. Her Granny Granger's gramophone they had inherited when Gran had died. Her father's photo albums and spoon collection.

"Do you play the piano?" he asked, motioning towards the upright behind the sofa that was cloaked in a white sheet.

"No, Granny Granger paid for lessons but I felt it interfered with my Latin Lessons so I only did it for a year," she said, looking at Piano.

"We couldn't afford music lessons," Fred said simply, "And honestly, musicians aren't big in the Wizarding World, not unless your Celestine Wies-whatever. All you really need to know if the right charm and—"he waved his wand again toward the piano and a ragtime started echoing from under the drapes "—Vwala!"

"Where was that charm when I was 10 and had to perform at Granny's recital?" she laughed, caught off guard as he took her in his arms and then spun her as though they were at the Yule Ball. She hadn't been expecting that and nearly flew into the china cabinet as Fred spun her out a second time.

"Sorry," Fred apologized and the music died, "Here let me try not to break your parents house."

"No. No it's fine, It feels good to have some more voices in here. I wasn't looking forward to being alone."

His hand found hers again,guiding her now to the couch. "That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," he said with a sigh, this time sitting down, ruffling his hair at the back of his neck. "Hermione, I don't want you staying here."

 _You shouldn't have told him you didn't want to be here alone,_ she scolded herself as she shifted in her seat. "Fred—I'll be perfectly alright here."

"No you won't," he said as though it was a matter of fact. "Or maybe you will be. I don't know. But if it's going to get as bleak as you feel it is, that means it won't be safe for you to be by yourself at home. They'll expect for you to be here. This will be the first place they'll look for you."

"And what, I should kick George out of his room and just shack up with you two?"

"Don't be silly," Fred said, " _I'll_ kick George out of his room and you can shack up with us two."

She had to suppress a chuckle and keep her face straight. "Fred, wouldn't it look suspicious if I suddenly became a familiar fixture of the shop?"

"Summer job," Fred answered quickly. He had definitely put thought into this. "You're our research and development intern. Lost a bet and are now doomed to a summer of coming up with the latest and greatest in mischief mayhem just in time for your seventh year."

"No," she folded her arms. "We'd be asking for trouble. We could hardly tell Harry Ginny and the rest we broke up but that I'm also working for you and George."

Hermione hadn't seen Fred look this annoyed in sometime. His brows were knit together and his lips folded in a straight line. "Fine," he agreed. "Fine. But that means we have to accept Plan B." He rose from the couch and made his way to the staircase. "Where's the guest bedroom?"

 _The What_ —

"Fred, you can't be serious—"

"I am a jokester by trade Hermione there's only a few things I don't joke about" he started walking up the stairs and then turned around to look at her, "Your safety is one of them. So if you aren't going to move in to the flat, I'm going to take up residence in your guest room."

She started following him up the stairs, chundering under her breath. He had turned to the right at the stairs top and was now opening doors and looking in.

"I don't need a babysitter," Hermione said ruefully, "I am a grown witch and I can take care of myself Fred Weasley."

"I know you can, but we can kill more Death Eaters if we have each others backs," He said simply, stopping his search for rooms. "Hermione, I—"

"You're being ridiculous," she interrupted. "It's going to look funny when you show up at the shop every morning? What's going to happen when people start thinking your doing a daily walk of shame Fred?"

"Walk of?"

"Forget it," Hermione brushed it off, her cheeks blushing scarlet, "The point of the matter is this. George needs you at the shop. I need to prepare for the hunt here. We can see each other on the weekends or something. I've faced him before, I can face him again. "

"But you didn't face him alone," Fred blurted out, almost exasperated at her stubbornness. "It's not been just Hermione vs. You-Know-Who, no, it was you and Harry—and Ron, Ginny the lot of others. I am not willing to lose you because you thought you could take on the entire horde of Death Eaters and You-Know-Who by yourself."

It was the second time in as many days Hermione sensed the amount of power Fred had given her over him. She felt like she could have told him then and there to go find the horcruxes and he'd wake up to the locket, cup, and diadem on her mother's table with a fresh made breakfast sitting next to them like they were a misplaced centerpiece.

She took a step closer to him and took his hand. "You apparate out of the house and back to the flat—to your room in the flat—every morning by eight o'clock." She gently squeezed his hand and looked up at his eyes as she continued, "You are not to Apparate back here until the shop closes. And again, directly from your room. If George or Lee asks you to go out, you're not to brush them off. Just let me know so I don't worry about you."

"Alright," he said, squeezing her hand. "Anything else?"

"Yes, this," she said and then she pirched herself of her tip toes and kissed him soundly on lips.

She seemed to have lost balance because they stumbled into the room behind Fred, but she didn't notice that. She did notice how she could feel currents under her finger tips. How Fred's hands on her sides seemed to be hot like fire, brush against the small of her back. They continued to stumble through the room and Hermione felt the window seat against her legs and she fell back, bringing Fred with her.

"I accept your terms," he said, murmuring the words right below her ear. He shifted to where they both fit, rather snuggly, side by side on the windows bench. "Tough proposal, but I accept."

It was her turn to laugh and she now placed her hands to where they framed his face, "This isn't going to happen every night Fred. Get that idea out of your head right now."

His hands now held her wrists in place, still supporting his head, a goofy, familiar smile lighting up his face. "Course not. Not from a respectable woman like yourself." He leaned in to kiss her again, "But just for curiosity's sake, should I hope for every other night or maybe weekly?"

She took a pillow from behind her and shoved in his face. She could hear his laugh and feel it shaking them both. In that moment, everything felt perfect. Everything seemed just right.

* * *

((*))

* * *

 _She stood outside of Privet Drive._

She had only been to Harry's house this one time, when they had come to pick him up. When she turned to her sides he saw Ron on her left while Fred stood on her right. She seemed to be a brick wall between the brothers as neither greeted or acknowledged each other, but were merrily going on trying to have a conversation with her at the same time.

"I was thinking, d'you think the Death Eaters know about the Horcruxes? Maybe he had an inner circle who protects them?"

"Georgie and I have the radio finished. We'll move it to your parents house after we get Harry squared away."

At least that's what she thought they were saying. It was hard to distinguish who was actually saying what. Both of them talking at the same time in a low and lovely whisper made it sound like George and Fred had finished the horcruxes and an inner circle would soon be coming in to protect Harry straight away.

At least that last bit was right. An inner circle was definitely coming in and to protect Harry.

She could see the others already on the porch. Mundungus Fletcher who kept turning around as though he wanted to flee, Mad Eye had his walking stick fixed on Dung's cloak keeping him in place. Bill and Fleur, his arm around her waist. Mr Weasley's hat was shadowed by Hagrid. Tonks and Remus were in the back and she could see Tonks take his hand with confidence as he turned to look at it just to be sure it was actually there.

That's when she felt something on her sides. She looked to her right and saw Fred had done the same, taking her hand, lacing his fingers with hers. His thumb casually brushed circles above hers. He didn't look at her, but she could see a calm, peaceful smile as they strode to the door to join the others.

She turned to her left and she saw Ron had done the same; Her hand was in his and she could feel his hand was warm, and tense. She wondered if he had looked around her, seen what Fred was doing and was now competing with his brother to show he was better. He gripped her hand tighter making it more uncomfortable.

"Fly with me?" They both asked at the same time. Hermione looked up to Ron, and then turned to Fred. His eyes were clear, piercing almost, like the ocean on a summer's day.

"What?" she asked, her voice sounded clumsy by comparison, "You know we're already flying with Kingsley and your dad.

His brow knit together, "No, Kings couldn't make it tonight. The Muggle PM needed him. I'm going to volunteer to take his spot. Fly with me."

The words were echoed behind her and she saw Ron was saying the same thing to her.

"No, I'm flying with Kingsley, you're flying with Tonks," she said firmly to Ron before turning back to Fred, "And you're flying with your dad."

All of a sudden, George was in front of them holding earmuffs, passing them to the awkward trio.

"Here, they cleared development this morning. Extra bit of protection when we're up there so the cold doesn't nip our ears." He put one snuggly on Ron's head and then on Fred's. He turned to Hermione and smiled; but there was something odd, something different about that smile. It was dark. It made her feel uncomfortable, as though something was exposed. Something was wrong.

"It'll keep their ears safe, but might limit their ability to hear up in the sky. Especially when the Death Eaters come," George continued, giving her a hat of her own. Unlike with his brothers, he put it in her hands and not on her head, "It'll muffle what they hear. It'll keep them safe, that's true. But they won't be tipped off hearing a spell that's rushing at them. They'll be sitting ducks."

"Good thing we don't have to worry about that," Hermione said, putting on a strong face. She squeezed Fred's hand and looked on at George, " Death Eaters don't know our plans."

"Do you really think so Hermione?" George asked, raising his eyebrow as now lifted his earmuffs. A gaping hole, oozing with blood that now tapered down his neck, staining his collar now appeared, "Do you really think you can stop this from happening?"

Her hands fell empty and a crash of Thunder rippled over head. Hermione looked first to see Ron. His face twisted in a rage.

 _You and Fred? You were canoodling with my brother the entire time I was trying to prove myself to you? Prove that I really loved you? Was this some sick revenge for Lavender? I should have never—he looked at her coldly and then spat at her feet, See you in Hell—and a flash of Lightning and a sudden pop took him from her sight._

"RON!" She called out in the summer storm. They weren't on Privet Drive anymore. But outside the seventh floor landing. The thunder had been replaced with the sound of spells in the corridor, crashes of armor.

Hermione went to grasp Fred's hand but that's when she noticed it was gone. She turned to see where he was standing and he was dueling with Percy, the two of them dueling the Faux Minister and another. A spell aimed high knocked loose some stones and Hermione knew what was about to happen.

" _FRED_!" she bellowed out, breaking into a run, pushing her way through the crowd until she was with him, under the wall as it fell down on them both.

Thunder shook the room as she jumped from her bed. Her heart racing out of her chest like hummingbirds wings. She put her hand to head and looked around trying to place herself.

She was sleeping in her room in Essex. There was a storm, but it was just a weather one, safely outside. They weren't going to Harry's for a few weeks yet, Ron didn't know anything about Fred, Fred and Percy weren't on speaking terms yet and George Weasley still had two, somewhat lopsided ears.

It was the same mantra she had told herself two weeks ago when the nightmare started. They came the first night that Fred stayed in the guest room. At first, she thought it was she had fallen asleep thinking of what was coming. Or perhaps it was because she and Fred had just argued over each others personal safety

But the dream had kept recurring. Sometimes the same every night, others slight variations. Sometimes Ron would call her worst things. Sometimes Fred could hear Ron and would duel him on the spot. But it always ended the same. Ron leaving and Fred falling under a wall of stone as George looked on, his ear ridden head trickling a stream of blood as his empty eyes looked on.

Do you really think you can stop this from Happening? He always asked. Sometimes he would throw someone else under a wall or falling under a spell. Sometimes it was Colin Creevy. Other Times Neville. She had stopped reading the book before bed, but she couldn't stop the dreams.

You don't have the inner eye, she told herself after the third nightmare jarred her from her slumber. She had told herself as she walked to her parents bathroom and taken out some of the sleeping pills administering a dose to help put her in a sedated slumber.

 _You can stop this from Happening._ She would chant before she went to bed. _You know what's coming,_ she'd tell herself. _You can stop anything and everything._

After all, that's why she had come back to Essex.

Slowly she got out of bed and put on her dressing gown. Her clock read 8:30 and that meant she had missed Fred leave for the day.

Their plan had gone off well these last couple weeks. As he agreed, Fred left early in the morning. Most days she would wake up early and see him off. She had introduced him to a bowl of morning Shreddies and after that he'd kiss her cheek and apparate to his room in the Joke Shop. Other mornings he'd leave before she woke up and she'd find a morning scone sitting on a plate with a lilac sitting on a tray outside her room.

The spell of domesticity still lingered. She spent the days going through her parents house, tucking up family heirlooms in the attic. She could remember how her father had complained about spending a small fortune to get their furniture shipped from Essex to Australia and back again. This time, it was different. This time when she sent them away, she had place in their heads the memory of the house burning down from a Christmas Tree fire and what the left with frow Norfolk was all they had. While she knew in a years time when she found them again her dad would be grateful for the money saved, she hadn't realized just how many things needed to be tucked away.

Her Mother's China figures had been the first to go up in the attic. Granny Granger's china, and her father's photo albums and spoons also found their place in a chest in the attic way. While the first week had been all about putting momentos upstairs, the second week had been about anticipating what would happen to the house when she left it.

Hermione wasn't sure what she expected the house to become. She like the idea of making it a safe house. Somewhere muggleborns could hide on their way out of the country. On one of her many trips to the attic, she had found a bunch of dental bags her parents had ordered for the clinic and she had made an assembly line to so at the very least those that found their way here would be greeted to a warm house and clean teeth.

This morning though she looked over her list. She had errands to run. She needed to go to the store and pick up some food that could be put in storage tins, some toilet paper and other things. Because as much as she meant her house to be turned into a safe house for people fleeing the country, she wanted it to be a safe house for Potterwatch, and she needed to think of a way of telling Fred that so it wouldn't cause suspicions.

She made her way downstairs, boxes marking their progress from the night before. When she entered the kitchen she saw it, waiting as it usually did when she missed him in the mornings: a blue bowl with the box of Shreddies and a note.

 _Heard you talking in the night and figured you needed to sleep in. Don't worry about dinner, I'll pick something up on my way home tonight._

 _Love, Fred_

* * *

((*))

* * *

Fred focused his eyes on the little clock above the door.

They had put it up there as a gag, a little gimmick. It was supposed to mirror the hourglass of Slughorn's Hermione had told him about. It would slow down when the day was going well and speed up as the brothers anticipated the end of hours. But no matter how much Fred wished the time to flash by the minute hand seemed to crawl ever so slowly to its journey end.

He had gotten so use to spending time with Hermione that any time they weren't near each other seemed like a moment lost. He liked to think that was because he knew she would soon be disappearing with Harry and his bumbling brother and the thought of a prolonged separation was causing these feelings, but even that he didn't think was it.

The Alley had gotten darker of late. The Summer Crowds were absent. They had thought that there would have been more gaggles of school aged kids coming down for the holiday, but those crowds hadn't conjured the way the brothers had hoped. By no means were their books suffering, the Ministry Projects had given them a large cushion, but at the same time that cushion, Fred felt, was getting thin. At least, George was making it feel thin. He had mentioned the other night how he was relieved they hadn't bought Zonkos like they had originally planned last fall.

It wasn't the finances or the dimness of the alley that had churned his thoughts to Hermione. He liked knowing she was nearby. If not in the room with him, maybe up stairs or in the kitchen. Or pulling books from the shelfs of her father's study. He had helped her in there last night and he could still hear her chatting away on why it was only practical to give her parents Hogwarts a History in hopes to better explain her adventures to them at the end of her first term.

He had helped her in putting away many of the Granger antiques and oddities, but also brainstorming for things to come. She hadn't talked about her fears for Muggleborns should the Ministry fall since Dumbledore's funeral, but he had noticed she wasn't sleeping well. When he'd leave he poked his head into her room and could hear her muttering or fidgeting to and fro.

She needed a holiday, and he needed a chance to test his latest design, he thought. Absently tapping his work notebook as he did so. Earlier in the week as he made his way back from the Radio Shop in Chelsea, he had stopped at a little Muggle Travel Agency and picked up a few brochures of hidden Mediterranean Coves and clear blue sky. He had told the young agent he was looking to surprise his girlfriend with a vacation abroad and she had promised him a proposal when he returned to the shop at the weekend.

If everything went to plan, not only would his latest project prove to save lives, it would also allow them a chance to get away-for her to recharge before going on her trip.

He wasn't quite sure what he hoped to get out of the trip yet. Part of it wanted to be a weekend of happy memories. Or perhaps, it was the hope that she would realize they were better together and she'd let him come with her and the boys-or better yet, the hope that she'd keep the Granger House as her own safe house and they'd be able to solve whatever Puzzle Dumbledore had left them in under the safety of the Fidelius Charmed house in Essex.

"Any plans for the missus when you get off tonight?" George asked as the customers he had been helping skirted out of the shop, bags in tow. "Up for another lovely night of playing house?"

"Oi," Fred started, looking up from his notebook, "We're not playing house—We're—"

"You've moved into her guest room, you surprise her with the occasional breakfast, she makes up dinner when she knows you're coming in. What would you call it Freddie boy?"

"A Domestic Experiment," Fred said, turning his attention back to his work book.

George had been less than amused when Fred had divulged their plans. He said that it was rank with possibilities to malfunction and that all their attempts to keep secrets would only blow up in their faces and leave family and friends as collateral damage.

"At least your making progress on the Fall Line," George started. Fred didn't mean to flinch but the moment he did he instantly regretted it as he knew his brother had seen it.

"You _are_ working on the Fall Line, aren't you Freddie?" his brother asked wearily.

"It—well it is something we'll need come Fall—if Hermione's right but—"

 _"If Hermione's right_ —" George repeated. His lips seemed to form a straight line and then he turned to Verity. "Verity, love, can you please mind the front, I need to discuss something with my brother."

"Righty-o Mr. Weasley," Verity nodded, giving a very sympathetic look to Fred. "Good Luck Mr. Weasley."

An invisible hand seemed to pinch Fred's ear and drag him to the backroom. The door thundered close and Fred waved his wand in a way to silence their conversation from wandering ears.

"What, _pray tell,_ " George started, hands on his hips and eyes closed in away that never had he more looked like their mother, sighed, "Are you working on if not the Fall Line?"

Fred snapped his fingers and his roll top desk opened and a Brown Leather Wallet flew to his hand. He handed it to his brother and folded his arms.

"Weasley's Wandering Wizards Wallet" he said in a matter-of-fact tone that echoed Hermione. "Simply insert a photograph to the passport and the magic will do the rest."

He looked to his brother and saw a dumbstruck look on his face, the words still attaching their meaning. "Listen, if Hermione's right, the muggleborns are going to need an exit strategy. Some of them are too young to apparate and they won't be able to use the floo's without being tracked. They'll need to get out the old fashioned way. So—" he opened the wallet and revealed a burgundy British Passport, a credit card and a transport ticket. "You put a photograph and it fills out the information for you. It's embedded with a Confounding charm so Muggle Custom agents won't know it's a fake—"

"You're breaking a half dozen muggle laws," George said, his voice flat, "And a dozen more Ministry Laws. How will the money cards work? And if the flight is full?"

"The card will go ahead and run the information of the last card used," Fred explained, "It's only going to be for small purchases really, if they are in a scrape. Their transport ticket will produce itself, the card can get them food or a room for the night if they're delayed."

"And where are you transporting them too?"

"Depends," he shrugged. "We have connections at Beauxbatons. Fleur is going to confirm everything with her old head at the wedding. If we can get them to Paris, Madam Maxine can get them to her school."

George looked at the open wallet skeptically,"Fred we run a joke shop, not a blackmarket,"

"We did both under Umbridge," Fred argued, "What's your problem with all this George, I thought you'd get it—that you'd be all for it. If you don't want to save lives why the bloody hell are we in the Order?"

George's face went from white to red in a matter of seconds, "I didn't have a problem joining the Order. I didn't have a problem with you becoming an Owl for Dumbledore, or with you tinkering with Lee's radio so we could pick up resistance station. I didn't even have a problem with you looking into how we could do a radio broadcast. But this?" He held up the wallet, "Fred, this could kill people. If it slips up, it could kill us—"

"But if we don't try how many Muggleborns will die?"

Fred picked up one of the instant cameras he had picked up from the Radio Shop in Chelsea a few days earlier, "Smile George," he said, clicking the button as a flash of light blinded his brother. He took the little strip and waved it before pasting the photo to the passport.

Instantly, black ink seaped up the spine and letters crawled like spiders until they formed words.

"Here you go, give it a look," Fred said, thrusting the wallet in his hands.

The longer the photo sat on the page, the more official it looked. It had a glossy shine similar to the photographs at Hermione's house. The background wasn't the shop work room but rather an official blue. George didn't look so much bewildered as he did bemused in the stationary photograph.

 _"Evan Granger,"_ George read and then looked up at his brother, "This is Hermione's dad's information. Why—"

"When Hermione sent her parents abroad, she sent them abroad under false identities" Fred explained, leaning against the workbench. " If the Death Eaters were to pull up muggle transportation records, they would think they were still in the country. It won't take them long to realize what Hermione did and start looking—pending how desperate they get."

"So you created a way to make it look like they left the country—" he said evenly. "Where are you going to go?"

"Just a weekend get away—I—I told you Hermione was going to be on an adventure with the boys, I wanted to take her somewhere to relax before then. We'll take it as a trial run. See what needs to be tweaked. When we fly back, we'll make it look like her parents got on one of 10 different flights to places all over Europe and the Americas, each set for a different connection from there. You-Know-Who would have to have half of his Death Eaters searching the entire world for the Grangers and they'd never get close."

"Fine, so say you get this to work, Hermione's parents anyway. What about the kids? How are they going to know about this? What if there's a snitch?"

"We'll go through the DA coins, get the Gryffindor ones first. There has to be a way to do direct messaging—once I tell Hermione and we get her on it and it'll be foolproof—"

George looked at the passport again, his expression slowly shifting. "Alright," he muttered, "But we have to agree, the instant we start to lose control on this-we shut it down. We get the Order involved and we let them take over."

"Deal," Fred said before picking up the Passport and gently removing George's photograph.

"Have you told Hermione yet? About any of this?" he asked. Fred could feel his brother's eye on him and he knew he would know the answer before he said it.

"She knows I'm working on something, but I think right now she imagines our Order activities are limited to my OWL Service and the Radio Project."

"How is that going now?" George asked, "Lee keeps forgetting to ask you, by the time he remembers you've already gone to bed-"

"We're closer; I want to ask dad if we could bewitch some of the other radios," Fred explained, "One radio will be good but if we could get people to send out messages-"

"We'd have better transition waves," George started, "We could secure the line with a charm and wouldn't have to worry about just anyone being able to hack the line. I like this-" he finished, "Lee and I can work on this."

"Even with all the variables and chances for things to go wrong?" Fred asked skeptically.

George looked up at his brother and shrugged, " Only people that end up dead from this would be members of the Order. We knew what we were getting into," he said simply, "Not kids. I think the Wizard Wallets are a good idea Freddie-I just don't want them to go wrong and end up leaving kids lost abroad or exposed for Death Eaters." George turned the door and turned his head back to face Fred, "Last thing either of us want are to be responsible for kids dying-"

The backdoor suddenly began to jiggle as someone behind the door seemed to be in an attempt to rip it from its hinges. George immediately shut the work room door, instantly restoring the protective shield between the workroom and the store.

The jiggling stopped an Fred listened closely as a key slid into the lock.

Fred turned to his brother, and noted how his stance must have mirrored his own. Wands extended, body rigid, although he was moving towards the door with a stone carved face.

" _Revelio_ " George muttered, brandishing his wand as they both watched the wood fade away and reveal Remus still fidgeting with the lock.

Fred felt as though they both breathed a sigh of relief. George's shoulders relaxed as he said behind the door, " Where did the Weasley family spend Christmas in 1995?" he asked.

"Grimmauld Place," Remus answered, "to be closer to your father at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies."

"It's him," Fred said, waving his wand and letting the door open for Remus.

"Next time wait for me to answer my question Fred," Remus nodded, looking at both of them with relief, "But all the same, thank you. Considering what I have to tell you, it's not wise to be loitering in back alleys."

"What's happened now?" Fred asked, trying to pick up on details from the old Professor's appearance. He looked Shabby as ever, but there was more color in his face. He didn't know how much of that was due to trying to enter their siege door and how much was attributed to Tonks. He'd prefer to think the later.

"There's been a mask break out," Remus answered gravely, running his hand through his hair. "I just heard it from Tonks. The Ministry isn't going to release the news to the Prophet out of fear it'd launch a panic."

"More like out of fear they'd have a rebellion on hand," Fred scoffed, " Who broke out?"

"Avery," Remus started, "Crabbe, Goyle, Malfoy-Macnair and Bellatrix's husband-Dolohov," the name sat heavy in the air, "Everyone we caught at the Department of Mysteries, they're all loose."

George met Fred's eyes as Remus said Dolohov's name. The man who had taken their uncles and haunted their dreams when they were children. _The man who had tried to take Hermione last year-_

"If You-Know-Who is emptying Azkaban," George started, "It's because he's making a major push."

"Exactly. And now that Dumbledore's dead, the next logical move would be-"

"The Ministry," George finished, again, making eye contact with his brother. _And if the Ministry-_

"What is the Order doing about it?" Fred asked, "Do you need us to go on patrols? Are we going to try and track them? Round them up and put them back?"

Remus shook his head while he cast a dark smile towards Fred, "If they broke out the Death Eaters that had been locked up over the Department of Mysteries, it's safe to assume they cleaned the prison out of any and all sympathizers," he sighed. "If anything, it means the Dementors have turned and the Ministry has lost control of Azkaban."

"But there's a plan right?" George interjected, "You wouldn't come to use to tell us these things without a plan? Some curve ball we can throw at them? Someway we can stop them from infiltrating the Ministry?"

Remus shook his head, "Think of ways we can get Harry off of Privet Drive and to a safehouse without the Ministry knowing" he said sympathy. " We can't trust the Ministry anymore, the Order is going to have to be completely independent. Think of a way we can keep Harry safe and maybe brainstorm ways you can keep the Burrow safe through the wedding."

"We're seriously going to let the Death Eaters have the run of the field like this?" Fred interrupted, "Just let them have the Ministry?"

"Sometimes you have to hold back to gain more ground," Remus said, and in his tone Fred sensed endurance more than defeat. He had been most affected on the news of Dumbledore's death. He had been his Champion. He had always provided a steady hand that had tried to guide Remus and his friends-and now, Fred sensed in away, Remus was trying to be that guiding hand for them.

"I just wanted you to know," he breathed, leaning back against the work bench,"Because Moody is convinced we all need to be on high alert. Up our wards. Keep eyes on those that may be vulnerable. Seeing as you are all in the Alley and often have small children in your shop, I thought you would appreciate an advanced notice."

George nodded, looking at Remus and then his brother. "Thanks Remus, we appreciate it." he said simply. "Fred's working on a Fall Line for security purposes, we'll see if we can made some further additions."

Remus nodded as the clock tolled the hour. "It's getting late, i need to go-Dora and I-" a healthy bit of color danced on his face, "Have Duty tonight."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" George asked with a smirk as Fred held back a laugh.

"I'll see you as soon as I hear more," Remus said, the color rising to a flush. "Remember-Constant Vigilance," and in a sudden pop he was gone.

The two brothers stood in the workroom, the only sound between them the ticking of the clock. When they had first entered the room twenty minutes ago, Fred thought the only bombshell to be dropped was the Wizard Wallets. Then Remus had to come in and tell them that not only had the Ministry lost control of Azkaban and was no longer to be trusted, but Voldemort had a fully stacked deck with some of his most lethal Death Eaters back in his fold.

And some that would be anxious to prove themselves again with Muggleborn Blood on their hands.

George picked up the wallet and handed it to Fred. "Take the rest of the afternoon off. See if your travel plans can get moved up any."

"What-"

"If we can't trust the Ministry to keep Death Eaters in Azkaban, I don't think we can trust them to protect muggleborns from being attacked," George said simply. "Put up all the wards you can think of on the Granger Place. Take her on her holiday. I'll think of something for when you get back. But neither of you are staying alone in Essex with Dolohov and Malfoy on the loose. Go," he said again, looking at the door Remus had just exited from. " Go protect Granger."

* * *

((*))

* * *

The Clock chimed 10 in the front entrance.

Hermione waved her wand and three blue orbs emerged, bouncing up and down around her, casting an eerie light in the kitchen.

He should have been home hours ago. She had made herself a sandwich around 9 having been waiting for him to come back with dinner as planned. She had put up most of her daily wards, but she was worried something horrible was wrong and if he came in after she set up the night wards there was a good chance he'd get splinched coming up the walk.

In all of their planning, they hadn't spent any time discussing what they would do if the other went missing-either she not return from her daily errands or he from the shop. Should she send her patronus to George? Should she just wait for him or forget the patronus and go straight to the shop and see if somethings the matter.

A hum radiated from the walls, one of the wards had been triggered. The blue lights were now golden and her plans of leaving for the shop dissipated, her fears with it. Fred was home.

She flew down the stairs, not sure if she wanted to try her own version of the bat boggey hex or run at him with outstretched arms. The door clicked open as she ran down the stairs and turned down the hall to the kitchen where he had entered from.

"Where have you been?" she asked, the fear in voice masked with concern and mild, no, simmering irritation. "You said you'd be back when-"

He pulled her in his arms this time, holding her tightly and close, his head resting on hers. "I'm sorry-I'm sorry-I didn't think it would take this long to get everything squared away."

When Fred pulled apart she gave him a second look and saw how tired he looked. It was as though he had been absence for weeks and all of them without sleep. In his hand was a manila folder similar to the ones her parents had in their office.

"Got what squared away?" Hermione asked, looking at the folder suspiciously, "What's in the folder Fred?"

He collapsed into one of the chairs sitting at the table. "I wanted to surprise you, it was supposed to be for next weekend, but Remus came in today and told me there was a mass breakout from Azkaban and I had to move heaven and earth to make it happen-"

"There's been a mass break out?" Hermione looked at the calendar above her mother's spice rack and she tried to run through her catalog. Early July, Death Eater break out-had she forgotten that? "What is Remus doing about it?" she asked, pulling up a chair next to him and taking his hand, "What does he need us to do?"

She noticed how his lips twitched into an upward smile. "I knew you'd say something like that, so I asked him," he said, gingerly taking her hand and bounding it in his, "Unfortunately, he says Mad-Eye wants us to survive and avoid an offensive strike, so we're to lay low and not trust the Ministry anymore."

"Haven't trusted them in years," she said and gave his hand a squeeze. "So if we're laying low, why were you so late?"

"The Vacation-" he said again, looking down at the envelop and then back at her, "I'm sorry-I was going to build up to it all next week, drop hints, make it spontaneous-nothing like a prison break to take the breath out of romance, eh?"

"Trust me, this seems peanty spontaneous to me," she said, now looking at the folder and imagining it a well wrapped Christmas gift that was unexpected and also unnerving. It was really coming out of nowhere and she wondered if she'd be having these feelings if he had been able to go along with the plan as he intended.

"I remember you said your parents left under fake passports. I want to give the Death Eaters a cold trail to follow, just to give further insurance they won't go looking for your parents under false identities," He started, pulling out two brown wallets, both leather and long, as though it was to hold more than just the wallet. "I figured we'd make it look like your mum and dad had gone on holiday and never came back. That you would have sent them into hiding abroad."

He handed Hermione one of the wallets and she gingerly opened it up find a British Passport on the right side pocket. The Centerfold had an Essex Dental License and the slick shine of a new Master Card. The left pocket had a British Airways ticket tucked in an envelope.

She first jumped to the Passport and found Fred's picture fixed behind the laminated sheet. A Watermark and Stamp from the Home Secretary granting him permission to travel with this passport. "But if you want my parents to leave-why is this you?"

His eyebrows peaked up and he smiled, "Give it a closer look."

When she did, the picture still showed Fred, looking very official in the photograph. But that wasn't what caught her eye. It was her father's scribbled scribbled below Fred's picture. In fact the only thing that didn't match on the page was Fred's photograph. Everything else was her father's information.

She did a second look at the credit card and again saw Evan John Granger stamped into the plastic. Instantly she reached out for the other book, going to open it when she saw the credit card blank of any name or numbers, the Passport just like it-a ticket missing from the airport pouch.

"What about mum?" she asked, her eyes wide, "We'll need to make it look like she got out as well-"

"I just need a picture," Fred said, pulling a polaroid camera out. "Smile-"

She doubted it was a smile but more a grimace."Fred-that's a polaroid camera-"

"And this is the latest prototype for the Weasley Wandering Wizard's Wallet," he said, as he waved his wand and the photograph sealed itself to the book. Hermione noticed how it seemed to contract to the proper size. A plastic covering sealing the information as letters fed up the spine and into their spot. Hermione looked at the plastic credit card that now read Caroline Jean Granger as though its owner had never been doubted before.

"This is extraordinary," Hermione said looking at the card, "Illegal, but extraordinary magic."

He nodded his head and looked at her, "Is it really illegal if it's right?"

"You sound like Sirius Black when we first talked to him about the DA," Hermione answered fondly. Her fingers now glanced to the airway ticket. She gingerly slipped it out of its case and looked over it.

"Fred, this is for a flight this Friday. Two days from now," she said her voice panicked. "I have too much to do-we need to-"

"I'll help you finish in the morning, George has given me the time off-he agrees, if the Ministry has lost control over Azkaban and that lots on the loose, we don't think it's a good idea to have you alone in this house-"

"Fred-this is too much-"

"Consider it your Birthday Gift," Fred sighed, "and mine too. I want to take you somewhere you can relax. Where you are not having to worry about food supplies and bed linens. Besides," he yawned-the tiredness creeping back to him, "Its a field run for the Wandering Wallets. If we get these to work right, we can see about using them to get muggle borns out of the country."

THe words clicked instantaneously and Hermione snapped her attention toward him.

"Really?"

"Fleur needs to finalize everything with Madam Maxine but it sounds like if we can get them to France, she can get them to her school."

 _Colin-Dennis-Nigel_ -she thought, of those name and so many more she could get smuggled out of the country and into France. "So," he asked, sensing that he had won with this logic, "Don't you want to know where the dear Travel Agent found us tickets to?"

She smiled and turned from him back to her mother's ticket. In Red letters read Mallorca Airport.

" _Palma de Mallorca?_ " Hermione asked excitedly, "Are we really?"

"Tried to talk me into a weekend in Calais but when I saw the pictures of the island and I knew that was the spot," he said grinned taking her hand and kissing it with a squeeze. "A few days there, and then we'll come back all nice and refreshed to liberate Harry from his aunt and uncle. But first-" he said, noting how her face seemed to have frozen at the mention of Privet Drive, "A weekend in the Mediterranean where its just you, and me, and no one who knows anything about Fred and Hermione."

* * *

AN:

To be honest, this isn't as clean an edit as I'd normally put out, but...

Again, I really enjoyed writing this (relationships! danger! stubborn headed lovers! the works!)chapter; yes, there was a good bit of fluff, but I also loved getting to add in the Weasley Wandering Wizard Wallets...I know the idea may feel rushed, but I've been bouncing it off my friends for the last few months now and I think I have all the plot developed for that... more to come on it in coming chapters.

Coming Next Chapter: Fred and Hermione enjoy a few long needed days in Palma de Mallorca (google it. I found it when researching and I love it). While they enjoy a few days to unwind and relax under the Spanish Sun, can they really escape the shadows that lurk from England? As George and Remus keep tabs on the developing situation, are any of them really as safe as they would like to believe?

I'm always self conscious when it comes to longer chapters, so let me know what you think...

This will be my last update of 2017; Chapter 34 has been outlined and will be fleshed out in the next week or two. So whether you have been with this story from the beginning or today is your first reading, here's to another year that is kinder, a year that is better, a year full of happy memories for you and yours.

Happy Holidays and a special New Years too You.

After all, Tomorrow will be kinder,

Cheers, KH


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